


linger on

by dizzy, waveydnp



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Grief, Healing, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Roommates, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends, parent loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 184,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24321301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/pseuds/dizzy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveydnp/pseuds/waveydnp
Summary: A recent loss has ground Phil's life to a halt. At 33, he's static in his grief and living in the house he grew up in - until his mother kicks him out.In a fit of indignation and with nothing to lose, he answers the first listing he finds for a room to rent in London... a listing posted by a guy named Dan.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 1278
Kudos: 1331





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaibrynM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaibrynM/gifts).



*

*

Dust kicks up into stale air. Phil can smell it, the musk of stagnation being disturbed. He can see the motes dancing in the weak late afternoon sunlight that filters in through the one small window in an otherwise windowless room.

He never understood that. Why, when given free reign to do whatever they bloody well pleased, would his parents choose to design any room with such a minimal view of the outside world? If he hadn’t been but a wee tiny child at the time, Phil would’ve told them to make the whole damn wall a window, glass from floor to ceiling. Let in as much light as they possibly could.

He never comes into this room anymore. He isn’t even really inside it now, stood in the doorway leaned against the jamb, watching his brother’s fingers trail over items stuck frozen in time, like if they never got touched, the reason for their disuse could remain ignored. 

Martyn turns to him, box at his feet already half full of their father’s old sketchbooks. “Are you gonna help me?”

Phil pushes off the jamb and walks into the room, and it’s as if the memories are a physical entity. His chest tightens, and he stops awkwardly. He shakes his head. He’d known he wasn’t ready for this the moment his mum asked, and though she’d tried to reassure him, he realizes with aching clarity that he was right. He isn’t ready for this. Not even remotely. 

It’s only by virtue of their lifetime of knowing each other - Phil’s lifetime, at least - that Phil can discern the faint irritation that flickers through Martyn’s otherwise casual expression. 

“Cool,” Martyn says. “Cool, fine.” 

Phil doesn’t entirely blame him. It’s not Martyn’s job to do alone, and it’s not as though this isn’t painful for him as well. But Martyn is the big brother, and Phil needs to be a kid again for a few minutes, to cry alligator tears over his chores until his mum just tells Martyn to do it because Phil’s too distraught. 

“I just… need a coffee,” Phil says, reaching for the first halfway plausible excuse he can think of. “I’ll be right back.” 

Five minutes. He can gather himself for five minutes, then return. He heads back for the doorway, walking too quickly, not looking where he’s going. Half a curse word flies out of his mouth as his shin hits the corner of a table. The box on top of it falls off, papers spilling out across the floor. 

This is art too, but it’s not his dad’s, not really. It is and it isn’t. These are images scribbled and scrawled over, decorated with stick figures in capes and cats with wonky ears. 

“Wow,” Martyn says, kneeling. He reaches down and picks up a paper. “I can’t believe he kept these.” 

Phil does the same. His fingers land on one, a well drawn outline of a dog, coloured in childishly. “I forgot he used to do this. Make us colouring pages.” 

Martyn’s smile goes misty. “He’d draw us anything we asked.” 

“Almost,” Phil says. “He said no to me sometimes.” 

Martyn laughs. “You were right creepy with some of the stuff you wanted, you have to admit.” 

“I used to ask him to draw the whole family and then also draw my pretend friends that lived in the garden and only came out to play at night when the moon was big. Mum overheard me and almost had a heart attack, I think.” Phil grins. “I wonder if she remembers that?” 

The look on Martyn’s face dims slowly. “I hope not. I’m not sure we need any more ghosts in the house.”

“Right,” Phil says, quietly. He doesn’t add that it might be better if ghosts really were real, because then they could at least see their father again. 

He stands, dusting off his knees. “I can’t…” he starts, looking down at these precious childhood artifacts. He doesn’t finish the thought, but it doesn’t seem to matter.

Martyn says, “I know, Phil. Just go.” He’s not angry. Disappointed probably, but mostly just quietly protective. “Make me a coffee, please.”

Phil nods. There’s an apology on his lips, but the words won’t form themselves, afraid of calling any more attention to the tragedy of it all. 

He goes downstairs, where he can hear his mum pottering about in the kitchen. She looks understandably surprised to see him so soon after she’d explicitly given him a task to complete, but, like Martyn, whatever her frustrations about his inability to do so remain only hinted at in the furrow of her brow and the set of her lips. She’s stood at the stove with an apron tied around her waist, brandishing a wooden spoon coated in some sort of dark red sauce. He dares not ask; she’s not a good cook on the best of days, and there’s the vague smell of burnt sugar lingering in the space between them.

He tries to smile at her, but he’s sure that gives him away more than anything. There isn’t even a spark of truth to it, so he turns away quickly to fill the kettle with water.

“Tea?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “Coffee.”

“Phil,” she tuts. “It’s nearly evening. You’ll ruin your sleep.”

He is undeterred, though he has the sense not to tell her that sleep has been more than a little hard to come by in the months since… well. Since he gave up his flat in Manchester and moved back into his childhood home in some misguided attempt to provide her comfort. If anything, it’s been the other way ‘round. Sleeping in the same bedroom he grew up in has had a distinctly regressive effect, one he knows for sure hasn’t gone unnoticed. 

He doesn’t want to talk to her about his feelings. He wants to pretend they don’t exist - or that the reason for them doesn’t exist. Instead he lets her cook his meals and wash his laundry and generally mother him the same way he did as a child. 

“I’ll be fine,” he says, reaching up into the cupboard for the Nescafé. His eyes catch on his dad’s favourite mug, one he and Martyn had finger painted together a million years ago. 

Ghosts may not be real, but that doesn’t mean these walls aren’t haunted.

She walks over and tips up on her toes to push his hand away. “At least have the decaf,” she says, reaching for the blue jar instead of the red and handing it to him. He doesn’t argue; it’s the taste he’s after, not the buzz.

Actually, right now what he’s really after is the distraction. He gives her another smile and this one has the warmth of sincerity to it. Just because he’s in his thirties doesn’t mean he’s outgrown the need to be taken care of every now and then. 

She ruffles his hair, smoothing his fringe over to one side. “You alright, love?”

“Alright as I can be,” he says, aiming for both honesty and levity. She’s his mum, she’ll know if he’s lying to her. “How about you?” 

“I’m…” she looks at her sauce and sighs. “I am, love. I just am.” 

There’s a quiet defeat in her voice that he utterly hates. He’s watched her put on a smile through eyes filled with tears for every well-meaning visitor that’s come and gone through the front door over the past six months. 

He wraps an arm around her shoulders. She feels frailer than she used to, and it makes him want to squeeze extra tight. She puts her head on his shoulder and lets herself rest there for just a moment before she pulls away from him. 

“Martyn wants a coffee too,” Phil says, remembering. 

Kath shakes her head and sighs. “Give him the decaf as well. Otherwise you’ll both be up until the wee hours of the night just like when you were little boys, running about playing.” 

Phil remembers those nights a little differently, but the nostalgia still makes him smile wryly. Most often it was Phil waking Martyn up with questions, with random thoughts in his head, because he couldn’t sleep. Or as they got older he’d hear Martyn creeping through the house - sneaking the phone from the hallway into his bedroom and talking to girls. 

Phil was such an obnoxious little brother. He owes Martyn a lot more coffees for putting up with all of that. 

“Phil,” his mum says gently. 

Phil realizes he’s been staring down at the mug, grains floating in it unstirred. He grabs for a spoon and watches it turn into coffee. When he reaches for a mug for Martyn, he grabs from the other side of the cabinet to avoid fingerprinted memories. 

He’s got both coffees in hand and is about to brave the return upstairs when his mum asks. “Reckon you lot will get that room packed up in the next few hours?” 

“Uh—”

“We’re having a family meeting,” she declares, with the air of a woman who’d been steeling herself for ages and just had to finally blurt it out.

“O… kay…” He looks at her with undisguised bewilderment.

“Tell your brother. Ask him to tell Cornelia, as well.” She wipes her hands on her apron and turns back to the pot of simmering goop. “Please.”

Phil’s heart is pounding, but it’s clear she’s not receptive to questions, so he mumbles in the affirmative and shuffles awkwardly out of the kitchen. 

Coffee sloshes from both mugs as he sets them on the desk by the little window. He sits in the chair and pulls his legs up to his chest, done pretending there’s any universe in which he actually participates in putting his dad’s things into a box where they’ll rarely if ever be seen again. 

“Cheers,” Martyn says sardonically, picking up his dripping mug gingerly to take a sip. 

“Mum says we’re having a ‘family meeting’,” he air quotes. 

Martyn frowns. “The shite does that mean?”

“I was too scared to ask. She wants Corn there too.”

The frown deepens. “She’s in the city right now.”

Phil shrugs. “Mum seems determined.”

Martyn sets his mug back down on the ring of coffee it left behind on the desk and looks around the room thoughtfully. “It did seem weird she asked us to do this…”

Phil nods. “I hate it,” he says quietly. 

“I know, mate.”

It’s scary, Phil wants to say. I’m scared. 

As a child, he would have. He remembers distantly what it was like to feel safe, like the people surrounding him could make all his fears go away. His mum with her warm mum smell. Martyn, always older, taller, braver. His dad… strong, able to pick Phil up like it was nothing, to give Phil a view of the world from atop his shoulders. 

As an adult he looks at Martyn and he can see the fear on his face, too. He doesn’t want to add more to that so he just rubs his hands over his face and sighs. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s try and get some of this packed away.” 

-

Phil is exhausted mentally and physically by the time they stop for the day, though it’s barely been an hour. He’s ready for a reprieve from the boulder in his stomach, ready to get whatever his mum wants to talk about over with. 

It’s nicer when Cornelia’s around, at least. She’s got a calming presence that Phil likes to be around. If he had any romantic interest in women at all, he might be jealous that Martyn found her first.

This is better, though. Because if he had to put any word to it, he’d say she feels like a sister to him. They’ve had more than one late night conversation - usually when Martyn and Kath were off doing the same. 

“Alright,” Kathryn says, walking into the room. She has a stack of folders in her hands and her reading glasses pushed back up onto her head. Her face looks so, so tired and maybe like she’s been crying recently. “We’ve got some matters to discuss.” 

Objectively Phil can’t think of anything worse than what their family has already been through, but the boulder in his stomach still grows heavier at the tone of her voice. “You’re not sick too, are you?” he blurts out. 

She looks up in sharp surprise. “Oh, love, no - no, I’m just fine.” 

“Oh.” Phil sinks back into his chair, slightly relieved. 

“I’m not ill,” she says, “and neither are any of you lot. That’s the problem.”

“Problem?” Martyn asks, voicing Phil’s thoughts exactly. “Why is that a problem?”

“Because we’re living like we are.”

The room is silent for a beat. Phil looks over at Martyn, who looks back at him with the same deer in headlights eyes. 

They don’t talk about it. Phil had thought that was just an unspoken rule at this point. They’re in mourning, pooling their grief. Riding out the aftershocks together. Of course it’s not going to be fun. 

It’s Cornelia who breaks the silence. “What are you saying, exactly, Kath?”

“I’m saying… enough is enough.” She’s looking at Phil now, pointedly.

Frankly he reckons that’s a little bloody unfair. He bristles. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Before she can answer, Martyn points to the folders his mum’s placed on the table in front of her. “What’s with those?”

“Alright, hush now, hush.” She looks at Phil again. “This is all for your own good.” She looks at Martyn. “Both of you.”

“What is, mum?” Martyn asks, a hint of irritation breaking through his usually chill exterior. Phil is secretly comforted by that.

“I’m selling the company,” she says. “And you’re moving out.”

Another long silence stretches out in front of them. Phil doesn’t look over at his brother this time. He keeps his eyes on his mum, trying to quell the rising tide of blind panic inside him. 

“You’re kicking us out?” Martyn asks finally.

“I wouldn’t phrase it that way.”

“You’re disinviting us from living here?”

“It’s not as if I’m about to pack your things and throw you out—”

“That’s dad’s,” Phil interrupts, and he feels all the eyes in the room on him. “You can’t sell the company. Dad built it.”

“We built it,” she corrects. “It’s as much mine as it was his. And it was never meant to make our children miserable.”

“We’re not,” Martyn says, automatically. 

Kath’s mouth is a tight line on her face. “How many years did you spend telling me you were happy to be getting to do a job that wasn’t behind a desk anymore? And what are you doing now?” 

“This is… different,” Martyn tries to say. Cornelia reaches for his hand and holds it tight. “This is the family business.” 

Kath shakes her head. “No, it was never meant to be. It was our business, your father’s and mine. And none of that ‘it’s what he wanted’ nonsense, either. Your father never had any intention of passing it on to one of you boys unless you genuinely wanted it - and you don’t. Neither of you do. If you did, you’d have shown interest ten years ago.”

Neither of them can argue that. Phil’s only memories of his father’s work from when he was younger center around frustrations at occasionally being dragged to the warehouse with him. 

“And to be quite honest with you,” Kathryn says, “I just don’t want it anymore, either.” 

“You can’t,” Phil whispers. 

Her expression softens when it lands on him, but her voice is still firm. “I can, and I am. At first I thought I’d just encourage you boys back out and sort it out myself, but I don’t want that, either. Your father loved the business - I loved that it was something we made together, something that let us give you two a good life.” 

“Do you have a buyer already?” Martyn asks, his mind already spinning onto the next part. 

Phil is sure Martyn wouldn’t say this is easy, but Phil still resents how quickly he can pull himself together while Phil sits trying to fight off a panic attack. 

“I’ve put together some competitors that might be interested in a buyout,” Kath says. “We’ll need to sort through the options and then work out what kind of deal we’d like - I want guarantees that all of the workers are kept on for at least five years and given their standard bonuses and pay increases.” 

Phil shuts his eyes. The words sound practiced out of her mouth, like she really has thought this out, and it just makes it more real. His chest feels tight and he’s sure he’s not drawing in enough air to breathe properly. 

Apparently it’s enough air for him to talk, though. “Why are you booting us out too?” he asks, interrupting something Martyn was saying. “You’re not selling the house as well, are you?”

They all look at him again. He hates that quite a lot. 

“No,” she says. “No, I can’t - I can’t do that. But I can’t stay here, either. I’m going on a long trip, me and your auntie. We’re going to Florida for a bit, maybe proper road trip around America some if we feel up for it. I don’t want to leave you lot in this house alone when there’s no reason for it. It’s just holding you back. It’s holding us all back.” 

Phil is sure if he opens his mouth to respond he’ll either sick everywhere or just cry, so he says nothing at all. 

“It’s what he would want, Phil,” she says, all the edge gone from her voice completely now. “He wouldn’t want you stuck in this place, giving up on your dreams just to take care of me.”

“That’s not—”

“It’s not right. It’s just not right. We all need to heal.” She smiles at him ruefully. “It’s never going to happen like this.”

He can’t speak. He can’t breathe. If he could, he might tell her he doesn’t have dreams. He’s not giving anything up, because it already feels like everything has been taken away from him. This - his mum, his brother, the house they all grew up in together - this was what he had left. And now she won’t even let him have that.

“It could be good,” Martyn says quietly, and Phil turns his head to see that he and Corn both have a shiny hopeful look about them. Martyn doesn’t look at Phil, and Phil knows it’s on purpose. 

“Of course it’ll be good,” Kath says. “You’re grown men. You need your own space.”

“You just want to forget,” Phil says, quiet. He feels so small and alone. “You wanna pack what’s left of him away and sell it off and forget.”

He’s too old to say things like this. He knows it even as the words leave his mouth, but he won’t take them back. 

His mum shakes her head. “I want to forget the sadness, love. I want to go to America and feel the sun and remember all the things he loved.”

Phil almost asks if he can go too, run away to the sun with her. Then he won’t feel so bloody left behind. 

But he doesn’t, some sliver of pride crawling its way up his throat and lodging there. She’s not inviting him to come with her. She wants to do this on her own - and she wants him to go off on his own as well. 

“How quickly do we have until we have to be out?” he asks. “You’ve decided everything else without giving us a say, did you sort that out too? Do we even have time to pack up our bags or have you bought train tickets for us already?” 

He knows he’s being too harsh with her. He does feel guilty at the way her eyes shine wet. The rational part of his mind knows that this is difficult enough for her without him responding with such unbridled emotional outbursts. 

He can’t help it, though. He feels too much and right now it all feels bad. 

It’s Martyn who speaks up. He sounds surprised and - disappointed, maybe. All he says is, “Oi,” but it’s enough. 

“You can stay as long as you need.” Kath sounds quietly defeated now. 

“Fine.” Phil stands up. If he’s going to pull this sort of regression, he might as well round it off by retreating to his room in a huff. 

Sat on his bed knowing he’s not welcome here anymore, he feels like he’s seeing things with new eyes. He takes in the awful green carpet and tacky blue wallpaper he’d chosen, choices that had been lightly mocked but not argued by his parents. His dad put that wallpaper up with his own two hands. It’s rather an ugly room, a relic of Phil’s utter lack of taste in his prepubescent years, but it’s _his_ room. This is _his_ house, and he’s not ready to leave it yet. 

He’s not ready to face the world as a fatherless son. He can admit that to himself. It’s not about taking care of his mum or trying to keep the business going, really. It’s about him, his own grief, his own fear. Living here feels like pressing pause on figuring out how to navigate a life that has been fundamentally changed. 

He pulls his mobile from his pocket and ignores the text from Martyn telling him he ought to apologize. He turns it off and puts it on his bedside table, then strips down to his pants, turns off the light, and crawls into bed. He’s going to press pause for one more night.


	2. Chapter 2

*

*

Phil sits at a table in a shop whose sign reads _Woodnook Chippy_. In front of him is a plate of fish and chips handmade by his best mate’s wife, beside him the seven year old daughter of said chip-maker and chip-maker’s husband. 

He’s not her uncle, but he might as well be. He loves her like he is, and she loves him like that back. She keeps nicking chips from his plate and and licking salt and vinegar off her fingers as she chats to him about Pokémon. 

It’s nice. Pokemon is about the right level of conversational weight to pull him out of his own head. He smiles every time she swipes a chip and argues her the merits of Pokemon that aren’t Eeveelutions (a debate he’ll never win in her eyes, but that’s alright, too) and indulges in that fierce fondness he feels both for her and for the people who brought her into this world. 

He’s gotten to spend a lot more time with Ian and Lauren since moving back in with his parents. The chip shop isn’t too far away from Rawtenstall and the slower pace of his life since he left his job lends itself well to popping around for a movie night or a free lunch, since they never let him pay. 

He’s spent hours here over the past six months, just sitting back watching Ian and Lauren run their business, watching them laugh and chat with the customers that come in. Sometimes he feels like a ghost shrouded in his own grief watching the world happen in front of him, but in a comforting way. Life goes on. Maybe not his, but everyone else’s. 

“These would be better with cheese on,” Emily says, critiquing his order like she always does. “The ones with cheese on are the best ones mummy does.” 

He makes a grossed out face at her, exaggerated just to hear her giggle. “I’m allergic to cheese. It makes my skin turn green and my fingers fall off.” 

“Nuh uh!” She sucks in a breath and then shouts, “Daddy, is Uncle Phil allergic to cheese and does his skin go green and do his fingers fall off?” 

Ian slides into the other side of the booth, beside Emily. “Yes, of course. You know your Uncle Phil doesn’t tell lies.” 

“Yes he does,” Emily says. “He thinks Gengar is the best Pokemon and that’s a very big lie.” 

Ian snorts and also steals a chip. “She’s got you there, mate.” 

Phil sticks his tongue out at Ian. “Betrayer.” 

“Blood sticks with blood, eh, Ems?” Ian holds out a hand and she gives him a high five. “Why don’t go you find mum, I think she needs your help making the pies.” 

Emily climbs over him like he’s her own personal jungle gym. Her hair is a mess around her face and there’s a stain on her shirt. Phil misses being a child fiercely when he looks at her. “I make the best pies,” she tells him, then she’s off running toward the back of the shop. 

“You made the best child,” Phil says. He already feels a little duller in the absence of her.

“That’s all Lauren and you know it.”

Phil shakes his head. “You’re the dad. Dads are important.”

It’s all he has to say. Ian’s face goes the way everyone’s face goes when they’re confronted with the reminder of Phil’s state of mind these days. 

He hates it. It’s like holding a mirror up to his own misery, and he can’t bear that right now, so instead he blurts out, “I’m moving out.”

Ian’s expression changes from one of pity to confusion. “Of…?”

“Rawtenstall, I guess? I don’t even know. Mum’s kicking us out.”

“Shit, really?”

“Selling the company, too.”

“Jesus.” He takes another chip. Phil rolls his eyes and pushes the whole plate towards him, but Ian shakes his head and shoves it back. “What are you gonna do?”

Phil sighs and slumps back against the booth, scrubbing a hand down over his face. “Christ. I dunno. I was honestly hoping you’d have some ideas for me. You're a real grown up.”

Ian crosses his arms, resting his elbows on the table and giving Phil a considering look. “Will your old job have you back?”

“They might,” Phil says, surprising even himself with the flatness of his tone.

“But you don’t want that?”

“I dunno.” He sits up to tear off a piece of breaded cod and pop it in his mouth. “Editing adverts for insurance companies was never really, like, my dream job, you know?”

“Who said anything about dream job?”

Phil shrugs. “You’ve got yours, haven’t you?”

Ian opens his mouth as if to argue, then shuts it without saying anything. He tries again, his voice much gentler than it had been before. “Dream job sounds like a lot of pressure to put on yourself after… everything.”

Phil looks down at his food. It’s food that was cooked by a person Lauren hired to work in the shop she and Ian had spent a decade saving up for. It’s a labour of love, truly. Because they love this place. They love being small business owners, not having to answer to anyone but themselves, showing their daughter the value of passion and hard work. 

Ian is _happy_. It radiates from him plain as day, and Phil feels suddenly struck by it. He feels small and grey in the shadow of it.

“You like editing,” Ian says, unaware that Phil may well be on the verge of some kind of epiphany. Or possibly a breakdown. “Good money, innit?”

Before Phil can respond, Emily’s voice rings out high and loud across the shop: “Daddy! Mummy says you can’t abandon her at the fryer just ‘cause your mate’s come ‘round to play!”

Ian beckons her over. When she’s stood in front of him he puts his hands on her little shoulders and looks right into her face. “Tell your mummy I’m having a chat about grown up emotions with Phil, yeah? I’ll be back in just a minute.” 

She looks at Phil with a serious expression, so much like Ian’s that it momentarily shocks him. “I hope your grown up feelings are alright,” she says, then goes into the back again. 

“Grown up feelings?” Phil asks Ian. 

Ian shrugs. “Sometimes you have to try and break things down for kids. Lauren’s on about how we need to be honest with her and make her understand things on her level - doesn’t want to just hide things from her and pretend nothing ever bothers us. It makes me yearn for the good old days when mums just felt like superheroes but not actually people, you know? It’s hard enough to sort out my own thoughts, much less explain them to a seven year old.” 

“She’s clever though,” Phil says. “It’s probably good. We were little numpties.” 

Ian laughs. “Were? Still are, mate.” 

“Still are,” Phil agrees. He looks down at his emptied plate. He lets a moment of silence stretch on a bit, and so does Ian. “I don’t think I want to move back to Manchester. The job paid well and I think they’d take me back, but it just feels… bad.” 

“What’s stopping you going anywhere you want, then?” Ian asks. 

All of the answers that jump right to Phil’s mind fall away as quickly as they come. It’s not money - he and Martyn own equal shares in the company with their mum now - he’ll certainly get that from the sale. It’s not family - not if his mum is off to Florida and Martyn… well, he and Corn probably just want to get on with their own life without a third wheel tagging along. 

The realization of how much is absent in his life threatens to choke the breath right out of him. 

“Mate,” Ian says, clapping him on the arm a couple of times with a firm pat. “You’ll make it through this, you’ve made it through everything else. It’ll be alright.” 

Ian’s never been the best at words of comfort, but Phil still gives him a shaky smile anyway. He knows Ian really means it. “I hope so. I’m just… maybe having like an identity crisis or something.”

“What does Ben think?”

“Ben,” Phil says flatly.

“Is that not…” Ian shifts uncomfortably on the bench. “Are you lot not even talking anymore?”

Phil realizes rather all at once that while he’s been seeing Ian more regularly than he has in years, he hasn’t actually been talking about anything that really matters. He’s been keeping his grownup feelings close to the vest. It feels awkward and kind of awful even trying to do it now, but maybe that’s good. Maybe he should be trying to actually learn from his mate’s example. “We… talked. Sometimes. Late at night,” he adds, pointedly.

Ian’s eyebrows shoot up, catching Phil’s meaning immediately. “As in, you do everything _but_ talk.”

Phil looks around, as if anyone would care enough about their conversation to eavesdrop. “It’s not like that anymore.”

“What is it like?”

Phil takes in a breath, opens his mouth to answer - then blows the air back out noisily. “I don’t know. It’s been a while. When…” His chest tightens, but he forces himself to say it. “When my dad got sick and I moved back here…”

“You broke up,” Ian finishes.

“Kind of? I dunno. Everything was confusing. I was a mess.”

Ian is kind enough not to point out the inaccuracy of the past tense on that statement. 

“Anyway,” Phil continues. “We stayed… in touch. For a while. I always thought we’d figure it out. But he hasn’t rung me in months. And I guess I haven’t rung him either.”

“Fuck, mate. I’m sorry.”

Phil shrugs. There’s a twinge in his heart when he thinks of the boy he spent so many years off and on with, but he reckons he’s not got enough capacity in his mere human body to feel proper heartbreak for his failed relationship. He’s got enough to mourn without shedding tears over the blond hair and green eyes he no longer wakes up to in the morning. “It’s alright. Really… it is.” 

“Maybe it’s better,” Ian says. “You’ve got no strings holding you anywhere. You can pick wherever you want to go and just… go.” 

It’s on the tip of Phil’s tongue to ask Ian where he’d want to go if he could go anywhere, but before the words can even leave his mouth he realizes that Ian’s probably happiest right where he is. So Phil doesn’t ask, because he doesn’t want to hear it. He can’t bear to think about how far away he is from that kind of contentment. 

-

He has a load of takeaway boxes in his arms when he arrives back at the house, as Lauren always sends him home with enough food for the entire family. He loads it all into the fridge and then leans back against the closed door, surveying the empty kitchen. 

This is home. 

It’s not like he’s never left before. He moved away for university, spent a year in student accommodations and then two more in a shared house with far too many of his peers. It was a crazy, hectic, stressful, amazing three years. 

He came back and left a second time, too - a full year after he graduated. He waited longer than he could have - longer than he should have. He’d been scared then, too. The world seemed too big, too wide open. His parents had given him a gentle push out the door, set him up with a little one bedroom flat in Manchester and kept on him about looking for work, kept the pressure up even while he thought they were being awfully unfair to him. 

They weren’t being unfair then. They were probably confused as to why he wasn’t more like Martyn, the only other example of raising a child they had. Martyn practically fled out the door - still ringing every other day, still coming home for visits, still a loving and loyal son. But always possessing an innate confidence and desire to be his own person. 

Phil’s not sure if his mum is being unfair now. The emotional intelligence required for that kind of self awareness is something he certainly isn’t capable of at the moment. It feels very much to him like she’s being unfair, even if a little glimmer of rationality exists somewhere deep down trying to tell him that this is something he needs, that he’ll remain forever stunted if he doesn’t get a kick in the ass now.

He’s still stood there letting his thoughts have their way with him when Martyn appears in the doorway. 

“Little brother.” He looks understandably wary. 

“There’s food,” Phil says by way of greeting. He pushes off the fridge so Martyn can get into it.

But Martyn says, “I’m taking Corny out,” and Phil can’t make sense of the conciliatory tone until he adds, “To celebrate.”

“Oh.” He wants to go up to his room and bury his face in his pillow and cry. His arms come up to wrap around himself protectively. 

He reckons he’s never felt more alone than he does right here and now, but Martyn doesn’t let him have it for more than a moment. “Come with me,” he says, turning around and heading for the stairs that lead down to the gaming room. Phil follows.

He hasn’t been down here in ages, and it’s even uglier than he remembered. 

He loves it. The walls are a gross faded pink colour. The sofa is even worse, some shade between yellow and brown with saggy cushions and a rip at the back. The tv is old enough that Phil’s sure it can’t still be functional, but when Martyn presses the button, light appears on the screen.

“Sit,” Martyn instructs, and Phil does, sinking into cushions they wore down well in their younger days. They used to spend inordinate amounts of time here, just the two of them. Martyn being the older brother meant most of the things Phil wanted to do were already childish and daft in his brother’s eyes, but video games were the exception. Martyn was always better at them, but Phil usually managed to keep up just by the sheer will of his determination. 

Phil is so zoned out that he doesn’t register what Martyn is setting up for them until he hears the familiar theme song of one of their old favourite games. 

“Bubble Bobble?” he asks, though he doesn’t need an answer. He’ll probably still recognize this particular tune when he’s dead and buried. 

Martyn tosses a controller into Phil’s lap. “Shove over.”

Phil shuffles to one side of the sofa and they sit next to each other in silence as they reacquaint themselves with the mechanics of the game. 

“Haven’t played this in years,” Phil mutters, trying to excuse himself for almost immediately losing a life. 

Martyn snickers. “Yeah, but you were shite even back then. Remember the Phil handicap mum always made me give you? You were allowed to die three times before I could take the piss.” 

“God,” Phil groans. “I was a proper brat, wasn’t I?” 

“Yeah,” Martyn agrees. “But it’s alright. All kids are. I was, I know. You made up for it by being their perfect little angel as a teenager. I reckon I nearly broke mum’s heart that one time I got caught snogging a girl in the school supply room.” 

Phil has to laugh. “Well, no danger of that for me.” 

Martyn shoots him an amused look. “Guess not.” 

There’s more silence as they manage the next few levels with no deaths, with only the occasional sounds of protests when one of them poaches a letter from the other. 

“Celebrating, then?” Phil asks after a while. 

Martyn clears his throat. “Yeah”

“Are you that ready to be gone?” 

“It’s not that,” Martyn says. “It’s not like that.” 

“Then what’s it like?” 

Martyn takes a while to respond, fingers still deftly moving on the controls. “Life feels too short now. I think Corn and I both gained some perspective over the past year. We don’t want to make excuses for things we put on hold anymore. That’s what we’re celebrating.”

Phil doesn’t know what to say. 

When he doesn’t say anything, Martyn goes on. “We let the flat go in London. We’re going to travel some. Sweden first, so Cornelia can see her family, then backpacking some. Line up some gigs in cities we have contacts. See if we can make a proper go of music, see if anything happens.” 

“You loved London,” Phil says. 

He’s never really understood it himself. He didn’t even visit Martyn much there. When he thinks of London he just remembers being a kid, being scared by all the crowds of people and clutching onto his mother’s hand out of fear he’d lose her, how much it smelled and that time a pigeon shit on him. 

“London’s brilliant,” Martyn says. “There’s a lot about living there we love. The food. The museums. It’s so big and open. You can be anyone you want in that city. You can be one person by day and another by night. And food, did I mention the food? We’ll probably end up back there. We just want some more freedom that isn’t constrained to four walls of a flat.” 

It’s more than Phil thinks he’s maybe ever heard his brother say in one go. Usually Phil’s the chatty one, eager to break the ice in awkward situations, intimidated by stretches of silence that go on too long. 

Right now, though, he’s not sure he has many words at all. 

“What if I don’t know what I want?” he asks quietly. “That sounds like too much bloody pressure.”

Martyn knocks his knee into Phil’s. “You’ll figure it out. I promise.”

It’s not any kind of answer, but it makes Phil smile a little anyway. “You and Ian are both absolutely crap advice-givers, you know that?”

“You don’t need advice, Phil.” He spares a moment to look away from the screen and over at Phil. “Right now you just need to get the fuck out of Manchester.”

-

Later, after Martyn and Cornelia have gone and Phil’s endured an awkward silence-laden dinner of leftover fish and pie with his mum, he sits in bed with his laptop on his thighs, staring at the Google homepage. The cursor blinks at him in the search bar, taunting. 

He knows he needs to do something. Put wheels in motion. Take the first step. 

His brain is still blank. When he thinks of what he wants, what he really wants, all that comes to mind are things that he can’t have. Things he’ll never have again, no matter where he goes or what he does. 

So instead he goes for something he doesn’t want, and types flats for rent in London into the search bar and hits enter. If he can’t be here, he wants to be far away from here, and London is just as well. According to Martyn, it’s brilliant. 

He only has to read through a few listings before he finds one that stands out to him.

_looking for someone to rent the second room in my flat. place is small but the rent is cheap and the location is good. has to be okay with me staying up all night listening to music and playing video games. no pets, no smokers. definitely no douchebags._

There’s a phone number at the bottom of the advert. Phil pulls his mobile out and types it in before he can change his mind.


	3. Chapter 3

*

*

London is still large and noisy and a bit smelly, but he doesn’t have his mum’s hand to cling to this time. He’s only got Martyn and reaching for Martyn’s hand might be a bit awkward so he doesn’t do that.

“You want to go up and get the key?” Martyn asks. He’s driven the moving van they hired here, because no one trusts Phil to drive a normal vehicle much less one this size.

Now they’re here.

The city where Phil’s going to live.

The street his flat is on.

Right outside his new front door.

Anxiety grips him. His new flatmate is up there. His eyes flicker upward, like he’ll see some shadowy figure standing in a window staring down at him.

They’ve barely even spoken, a few emails exchanged back and forth and that was that. Now Phil has to go get the key. What does he even say? _Hi, I’m Phil Lester, ignore that stain on my crotch, I spilled a coffee on myself earlier because I’m awkward and clumsy, also we’re going to be flatmates now, please don’t hate me, I scare easily._

Martyn sighs. It’s not a cruel sound, but it’s not a kind one either. It’s the sound of an exasperated sibling. “You start getting the boxes out, I’ll get the key. What’s the flat number again?”

“Twelve B,” Phil says, relief washing through him.

At least when he meets Dan Howell for the first time, he won’t be alone.

Ten minutes later he’s got a good load of the boxes piled up on the pavement and Martyn is still nowhere to be seen. Phil wipes the sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his hoodie and then pulls his phone out. He rings Martyn’s number and his stomach drops when he hears the ringing coming from inside the van.

He waits another five minutes before the certainty that Martyn has been axe murdered settles itself into his chest. He doesn’t want to, but he reckons he’s got no choice now but to go upstairs and avenge his brother’s death. Or perhaps find him in the stairwell with a broken ankle? Maybe all hope isn’t lost.

He’s distantly aware that there are untold numbers of rational explanations for Martyn’s absence, but he’s too anxious today for that to be any real kind of comfort for his racing heart. He grabs a box with shaky hands and heads inside.

The inside of the building is about the same as the outside: average. Not particularly nice but not so awful that it makes him regret his choice. The lift takes ages to arrive, and unfortunately that just gives him more time to panic. By the time he’s made it up to his floor he’s sweating again.

The lift doors open and it becomes immediately clear which flat is 12B, as there’s a door with a big bronze B that has been left slightly ajar. Much to his relief, he can hear Martyn’s voice before he even steps inside. He shifts the weight of the box onto his hip and knocks gently.

No one answers, but he can still hear Martyn talking, so he decides to be brave. He pushes the door open and steps inside his new home.

He finds Martyn stood in the kitchen talking to a bloke Phil can only assume is his new flat mate. Neither of them even seem to notice he’s there, so Phil, in his moment of anonymity, takes the opportunity to observe the person he’s going to be living with.

He’s young, almost definitely younger than Phil, and tall. Taller than Martyn for sure, and also maybe taller than Phil. For some reason that surprises him; more often than not Phil is the tallest person in the room.

He’s fit, too. Phil notices it more as an observational thing than anything else; the same way he notices hair colour or if someone’s wearing glasses or not. It’s not an exceptional thing, he’s not the sort of fit that Phil would stop in the street and gawk at, but he’s just… fit.

He also stops talking at the sight of Phil staring, which Phil notices belatedly.

“Can I help you, mate?” Dan asks. It’s just shy of rude.

Martyn turns his neck to look at Phil. “Oh, Phil. Sorry, got caught up - Dan and I were at the same The XX show last year, apparently. Small world, eh?”

“Guess so,” Phil says. He’s not actually sure what The XX is but he knows it must be a band. Martyn only ever sounds that excited when he’s talking about food or music.

“You’re Phil?” Dan asks, brow furrowed in confusion now. He looks at Martyn. “Then who the fuck are you?”

“Phil’s brother,” Martyn says, tone apologetic. “I’m here helping him move in. Designated driver, and all.”

Dan’s eyes land on Phil and settle there. Phil is keenly aware of the stain on his crotch again but just manages to avoid blurting out something that would point it out in case Dan hasn’t already seen it. “I can drive,” Phil says, which might not be any better.

“That’s great,” Dan says slowly.

“No he can’t,” Martyn adds. “He only passed his test because his instructor just won the lottery and didn’t give a proper shit.”

Phil glares at him. “Still, I have the license, don’t I?”

Martyn nods patronizingly. “Sure.” Then he looks at Dan and says, “If you’ve got a car, don’t let him trick you into letting him drive.”

“I don’t have a car,” Dan says. “Did you leave your stuff downstairs?”

“Frick,” Phil says, suddenly remembering that he did exactly that. His heart starts to pound imagining everything he owns having been stolen in the last five minutes.

“I’ll help you start bringing stuff up,” Martyn says, then looks over at Dan. “We’ll have to chat more about shows some time.”

“Sounds good,” Dan says. “You need anything else from me besides the key?”

“No,” Phil says, running on autopilot. Almost as quickly he adds, “Yes. Which room is mine?”

“Only two options,” Dan says, pointing at one of the doors. “Yours is the one without my shit already in it.”

“Right,” Phil says, alreading feeling stupid though behind him Martyn chuckles at the joke.

-

Dan doesn’t stick around long. They pass him in the hallway between the third and fourth trips up. He says something in a low voice that Phil can’t quite catch, more of an acknowledgement than anything else.

Phil’s glad. It feels a bit less oppressive without feeling like he’s invading Dan’s space while Dan’s still in it. Phil’s never been in a situation where he moved into a place someone else already lived. At university he and his friends all found the house together, all knew each other and moved in at the same time. Everything felt shared, everything was shared.

But this flat has someone else’s books and movies on the shelf. Someone’s else’s video games stacked precariously by a television set that belongs to someone else. There are a couple of posters on the wall, a blanket thrown over the back of the sofa, shoes lined up by the door - things that mark it as a home for someone else.

The only neutral space really is his bedroom. He breathes easier when he’s standing in it, even if mostly he’s just standing in there while he stacks boxes upon boxes. He’s not even sure how he has this much stuff. It didn’t feel like this much back in Manchester.

Some of them have come straight from his last flat, though, he realizes. He looks at tape that’s aged more than a year since it was pressed into place and his stomach feels heavy. He wonders if he’ll ever stop feeling caught off guard by the fact that his life won’t stop changing and he can’t go backward.

“That’s the last of them,” Martyn says, wiping his forehead. “Want me to stick around and help you get some stuff sorted?”

“No,” Phil says. Dan’s still not back and suddenly he doesn’t want Martyn there either.

He knows Martyn has other plans, anyway - seeing some mates, collecting some belongings from the flat he and Cornelia have been subletting to a friend.

“Are you gonna freak out?”

He reckons he probably is, but he bites the inside of his cheek and shakes his head. “I’m just tired.” Not technically a lie.

Martyn still looks hesitant. “Mum’ll be cross if she knows I left you alone without helping you unpack.”

“So don’t tell her.”

“You know she’ll get it out of me. She’s worried about you.”

Phil bristles, squatting down to pretend he gives a toss about opening the box that’s nearest to him. He doesn’t want to have this argument again. He doesn’t want to keep being confronted with the fact that Martyn is mature enough to see things from both sides where Phil so clearly isn’t. “Right,” he mutters under his breath, ripping up the tape that’s been keeping this box of books sealed for well over a year.

He doesn’t even have a shelf to put them on, so he stands back up, feeling daft. “Look, I just… I just wanna be alone. Alright?”

Martyn looks at him for a beat before he says, “Yeah, alright mate.”

-

He watches from his window as Martyn drives away in the van, disconcerted by how little relief he feels in getting the solitude he’d claimed to want. He’s alone now, for real. All he has in the world is a splintered family and a room in someone else’s flat.

It isn’t even a big room. In fact, it’s almost as small as the one he’d had in student housing, though he has to admit it’s decidedly more clean. The walls are a crisp white, the floor wood. The window is big, and even on an overcast day like today it lets in a lot of light. He doesn’t need a lot of space, he tells himself. He’s got nothing to fill it anyway, nothing but useless knick knacks. He left all his proper furniture in Manchester, not wanting to have to deal with the ass ache of transporting it across the country.

He’s starting over, properly, a new beginning and all that. He wishes he could muster the will to put any stock in those trite kind of platitudes, but at the moment it just makes him feel queasy. He’s definitely going to ‘freak out,’ as Martyn so delicately phrased it.

There’s no screen on the window. When Phil opens it up to feel the breeze on his face, there’s nothing between him and the London air. He sticks his head right out and looks down at the street below. It’s a busy one, the road full of cars and buses, the pavement peppered with people. The noise is the kind he spent a whole lifetime living without. It’s just like his childhood memory of London, unpleasant and overwhelming, and now it’s right here outside the only space he has that’s his.

Or is it even his?

Someone seems to disagree.

“Hello there,” Phil says, staring his head at a beady eyed pigeon that looks right back at him.

It seems fearless, perched right there on the sill. Not only does it not fly away when Phil speaks, but it hops a tiny bit closer. It makes a loud cooing sound.

“Are you trying to tell me that I’m in your territory?” Phil asks. “No one told me there was a third flatmate.”

Its whole body does a little twitch as it hops back and then forward again. There’s another coo and Phil laughs.

“Oi, alright, Gerald, I get the point. I’ve half a mind to actually just let you have it, you know? Maybe we can trade and you can give me directions to your nest.”

The pigeon tilts its head.

“You’re right,” Phil says. “You shouldn’t trust me with your nest. I’d probably leave the place a mess. Wouldn’t know where what bits of lint went or anything. It’d be mum with the silverware all over again.”

Mentioning his mum makes him feel another surge of guilt. He’s supposed to ring her tonight, let her know he’s safe and his new flatmate isn’t an axe murderer or anything like that.

Gerald coos again, then flies over to the next sill in the row of them. Dan’s room, Phil thinks.

“Rude,” Phil calls out after him.

A woman below on the street looks up at him to see where the sound has come from. He steps back and slams the window shut immediately.

He looks back at his room. Nothing has magically unpacked itself yet, much to his disappointment. He tries to make some order in his mind - bed first, he decides. He’ll need somewhere to sleep tonight. He doesn’t have a real mattress or a frame or anything, just a rolled up foam mattress that his mum insisted he let her buy for him.

He’ll get a bed soon. Maybe a desk by the window so he can sit and work… presuming he has work, eventually. Though will he need a desk for whatever he does? He has no direction now, maybe hours of hunching over a laptop editing won’t be in his future.

Or maybe it will be. He feels so resoundingly apathetic that it almost scares him. He used to be excited about the prospect of using his degree. Hours of listening to droning voices going on and on, editing out uh and um and awkward pauses until a headache drilled a hole in his skull. Maybe what he feels isn’t apathy. Maybe he’s just not ready to make a decision that’s already been made for him, deep down.

Those thoughts are too heavy, he decides, and sets about unrolling the mattress. He finds the box with his bedding - a blue and green duvet that serves as a remnant from much younger years. His newer bedding set didn’t seem to make the move but his mum had this around and now he gets to feel the regression back to his twenties with his sleeping hours as much as his waking ones.

He’ll need food, too, he thinks. Food, a bed, and wifi - he can survive on those three things. No, wait - four things. He’ll need coffee as well. He walks into the kitchen and starts to poke around. There’s a fancy coffee maker that Phil is immediately intimidated by. He prefers his Nescafe, simple and classic. There’s not much in the fridge. A block of cheese that Phil swears he can smell as soon as he notices it’s there, a couple courgettes, a takeaway box. Either Dan doesn’t eat or he orders every meal out. Phil’s not sure which he’d prefer.

“There’s nothing in there.”

Phil jumps, banging his head on the roof of the fridge. A very emphatic “Ah, fuck!” escapes his mouth before he gives it permission, and pain blossoms all across the top of his skull. He shuts the door and turns around, cradling the spot where his brain is surely bruised and faces his new flatmate.

“Shit,” Dan says. “Sorry. I thought you’d have heard me come in.”

Phil tries to smile to play down his embarrassment, but all that comes out is a grimace. “I wasn’t gonna take your food. Sorry.”

Dan shrugs. “Nothing to take.”

Phil nods, wincing at the spike of pain it induces. It’s almost poetic how quickly he’s managed to demonstrate to this stranger just how little grace and coordination he possesses. And tact too, he reckons, snooping through Dan’s stuff. Great start to their cohabitation.

Dan is frowning at him now. “Mate, that was a hard hit.”

“I’m jumpy right now,” Phil admits. The pain is too acute for him to think about what he’s going to say before he says it. “Anxious.”

“Ah.”

“Also I startle easily.”

“Sorry,” Dan says again. “Not used to having to announce my presence, I guess.”

Phil shakes his head, ready to argue that it was in any way Dan’s fault, but the movement just makes him hiss.

“Stop moving your head,” Dan says, and he walks away abruptly. Phil barely has time to start panicking that Dan hates him before he’s back, grabbing Phil’s hand and shaking three tablets out of the bottle and right into Phil’s palm. “Take these.”

Phil tips head back and slaps them into his open mouth before he even thinks about the fact that he’s not got a drink to wash them down, but then Dan is handing him a glass of water like some kind of all knowing telepathic nurse wizard. Phil chugs back the whole thing and gasps out a thank you.

“Do I need to call you an ambulance?” Dan asks.

“What? No. God, please don’t. I’m fine.”

“You might be concussed. Heads shouldn’t make the kind of smacking noise yours just did.”

Phil shakes his head again, wincing.

“Don’t do that!”

Phil has to laugh, even though it hurts and he’s more than a little humiliated. “Okay okay sorry, I keep forgetting. But I’m fine.”

“I kind of need you not to die on the very first day you move in,” Dan says. “That would look really suspicious and I don’t fancy going to prison.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely too pretty to go to prison,” Phil says, then promptly slaps his hand over his mouth.

But the corner of Dan’s mouth quirks up a little, denting a dimple into the center of his cheek. It only serves to prove Phil’s point about him being pretty, but it’s a profound relief not to have any slurred accusations being thrown at him.

He needs to be more careful. “Jesus,” Phil mutters. “Sorry. Maybe I _am_ concussed.”

Dan shrugs. “As long as you promise not to die.”

“I won’t. I hurt myself all the time and I haven’t even died once yet.”

Dan snorts. “Alright then. Good.” He looks down at his feet, and Phil suddenly realizes Dan might be feeling just as nervous and awkward and out of sorts as Phil is. After all, it’s his space that’s being occupied by a stranger now, one who apparently has no qualms searching through his fridge before he’s had the manners to put any of his own food inside it.

He wants to say something reassuring, but he can’t think of what, so he just stands there like a numpty until Dan lifts his head again and says, “So. I was gonna order food.”

“Oh.”

Dan looks at him, and Phil is too slow on the uptake to realize he’s waiting for more than mere acknowledgement. “Do you want anything?”

“Oh,” Phil says again. He thinks about it, but the idea of eating at the moment makes his stomach turn. “No. Thanks. I think maybe I need to lie down.”

A frown flickers over Dan’s face. “Sure.”

The tone is so neutral that Phil isn’t even sure if Dan’s offended by the response or not. He heads back to his room, deciding he doesn’t want to wait around and find out.

-

He lies on his foam mattress, bedding on it though that’s as far as he got into the boxes. Once the pillow and duvet were on it he’d lost all will to do anything but rest his pounding head.

The paracetamol does kick in, at least.

That’s almost worse, though. Without the pain dominating his thoughts they wander to… everything else. The noise outside. The fact that his brother is somewhere in this city but might as well be a world away. His mum, alone wherever she is, in a house without her boys for the first time in ages.

Maybe he should be glad she’s brave enough to face that. But he’s not. He’s not glad at all. He’s not brave enough to face it.

He rolls over. There’s an odd pressure in his head so he scrunches his eyes shut.

There’s so much he needs to do now. Why the fuck did he move to a whole new city? He’ll have to learn where things are in a new Tesco, if there’s even a Tesco nearby. Maybe all they’ve got is Sainsbury’s. Sainsbury’s isn’t bad, but in Manchester it was a Tesco near his flat, he knows what brands they carry.

He’ll have to find a new dentist, too. A new doctor. A new optician when his glasses break.

He doesn’t even have a fucking bed. Pressure claws at his chest in a different way than the kind in his head. It’s some relative of panic, some slow burning cousin borne from the same anxiety but containing anger - at himself, at the impulsive decision he made, at how little he stopped and thought through.

Martyn was excited for him. Martyn’s the sort of man who can do impulsive things and not think twice. They always work out for him.

(Probably not always. But Phil’s not in the state of mind to offer a fair evaluation.)

Moving to a new city isn’t even that adventurous to Martyn. He did it when he was barely out of uni. Phil’s thirty three years old and terrified. What kind of pathetic—

His phone buzzes where he’d shoved it under his pillow. His instinct is to ignore it, but he realizes that his instinct is the last thing he wants right about now, so he fishes it out and opens it up without even reading who it’s from. He doesn’t remember exchanging numbers with Dan, but they must have done in their emails at some point because there’s his name in Phil’s messages.

_btw the wifi password is ilovellamas69 and no i will not be answering any questions about that_

Phil smiles at his phone. He wishes he was capable of a clever reply, but the best he can do is _Lol thanks_

Dan texts back right away. _remember you promised not to die_

Phil stares at the message for what must be close to five minutes, pleading with his brain to come up with something even halfway close to a witty response, but in the end he just can’t. The drugs have taken the edge off enough that his whole body is screaming at him to close his eyes and sleep the rest of this miserable day away. He types: _Haha I promise I won’t dw_ and then slides his phone back under his pillow.


	4. Chapter 4

*

*

He doesn’t wake up again until many many hours have passed. He’s not sure at first exactly how many, because his head kind of feels like someone took a sledgehammer to it. He tries to roll over and return to the bliss of unconsciousness, but there’s too much noise coming in through his window and there’s sun on his face which makes no sense because his window is on the other end of the room and the curtains are always drawn and—

His stomach sinks as realization dawns. The window is right next to his bed. His curtains aren’t drawn because he doesn’t have any. The noise outside is the noise of London traffic, because that’s where he lives now. In a small room in someone else’s flat, with a curtain-less window and a bed that isn’t even really a bed, just a glorified rectangle of foam laid out on the floor.

He needs drugs. Now that he’s properly awake, dulling the ache in his skull is about all he can focus on. He hauls himself up off the mattress, groaning like a proper old man as he does so. He’s still fully dressed, jeans and all, so he just scoops his glasses off the floor and heads down the hall for the bathroom, hoping blindly that that’s where Dan keeps his paracetamol. Or maybe something stronger.

He doesn’t find any there but at least he can relieve his bladder, removing one uncomfortably pressing need. He’d love to brush his teeth and wash his face as well but all of his toiletries are still in his bedroom. What does Dan think of him for not having brushed his teeth before bed? His stomach churns and he realizes he’s somehow terribly hungry as well as generally anxious and in pain.

Tablets. He still needs them. He wanders back out, into the kitchen. There is the paracetamol - still out on the counter, presumably where Dan left it before when he’d given Phil some. Phil’s fingers shake as he uncaps the bottle. He washes three down with some water before a note catches his eye on the fridge.

The writing is barely legible but it says, _vegan pizza leftovers, help yourself_.

He takes one slice and manages to choke it down. He’s both grateful for something in his stomach to go alongside the medicine and also truly disgusted by whatever abomination someone has decided to tar the good name of pizza with.

Once he has something in his stomach the fog lifts a little more. He does need a shower, he decides, and then coffee. He’s not sure where he’ll find it, but he needs coffee.

The water pressure is better than the shower at his parents’ house. It feels so bloody amazing that he stands under the hot firm spray for a good ten minutes before he even thinks of squeezing shampoo into his hair. When he finally gets around to it, a strong, unfamiliar scent makes his heart lurch. He reaches for the bottle again and squints at the label, realizing far too late that he’s just used Dan’s by mistake. He rinses it right out again, telling himself that the scent of hibiscus and coconut or whatever the hell it is won’t linger if it was only touching his head for about ten seconds. At the risk of drying his hair out, he relathers with his own and leaves the suds in for much longer than he needs to. The idea of Dan finding out and thinking he’s a weird pervert or something is enough to have panic threaten to claw its way back up from where he’d only managed to squash it down.

Not that flowery coconut is a smell that is unpleasant to Phil. It isn’t. If anything, it endears him a little to his new flatmate. He’s met more than his fair share of guys who would rather smell like week old farts and body odour than wash themselves with something as girly as that. Curiosity gets the better of him then, and he reaches for body wash he knows isn’t his. He flicks the lid open and gives it a sniff. It’s not as cloyingly sweet as the shampoo, definitely something marketed to men, but Phil finds himself enjoying that too.

Because it smells nice. He can imagine it pared down, warm and slightly spicy lingering on someone’s skin. Not Dan’s skin, he doesn’t even know Dan. Not anyone’s skin in particular, really, just…

He slides his hand down his stomach and audibly sighs in annoyance at the discovery of the half hardened state of his dick. He’s not even turned on, his body is just hard wired to associate a decrease in pain with an increase in pleasure, apparently, because he really does feel so much better after the drugs and the heat of the water. He doesn’t fancy a wank, though. Not here. It feels wrong. It feels entirely like someone else’s space.

He finishes his shower as quickly as possible, toweling off and changing into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. It’s a far cry from the business casual he’d had to wear at his last job, but he’s gotten _quite_ accustomed to his wardrobe reflecting the bright colors and cartoon imagery that he feels is more appropriate for his personality.

He thinks, anyway. Right now he’s not even sure what his personality is supposed to be.

-

Dan’s door is still firmly shut when Phil leaves with his laptop tucked into a backpack slung over his shoulder. He finds a Starbucks just at the corner of the nearest tube stop.

Life doesn’t seem quite as scary as he sits at a table for one drinking a caramel swirl iced mocha with extra whip. There’s an anonymity that he appreciates, a comfort in feeling like no one around him is even paying attention to him.

It lasts approximately as long as it takes for him to type ‘jobs in London’ into the search engine. His heart starts to speed up again as he looks at the pages upon pages of listings. He hadn’t put in any sort of criteria so he’s pulling back everything from server positions to administrators to engineering jobs.

He tries to imagine himself doing any of those things, tries to imagine a new direction. Then he remembers being a teenager and working in WH Smith for all of a month before it went horribly wrong. No one in their right mind would let him juggle multiple plates of food, or try to keep anyone’s calendar.

And he wouldn’t want to.

But what does he want?

He opens a new window and navigates to Facebook just as a distraction. He has a few messages, a couple of very outdated memes from his well meaning auntie, an invitation to a group he immediately rejects, and one from Ian.

It’s a picture of Emily that makes him smile. She’s asleep on the sofa clutching the plush Eevee that Phil had given her for her last birthday.

He taps the heart by it and then says, _when are you bringing her for a visit??_

Ian must not be busy at the shop because he responds almost right away. _Miss me already Lester?_

 _No_ , Phil writes. _u smell. I just want my playmate back. And lauren to fry me some chips up._

 _The chips miss you._ Ian attaches a picture of a plate of chips.

Phil pouts, though no one can see it except the people in the coffee shop and he knows it probably looks ridiculous.

 _Really tho,_ Ian says. _How is it?? City life?_

He debates lying and saying everything is grand, but if he can’t be honest with his best friend, who can he be honest with? _Nearly concussed myself in front of my new flatmate, ate some of his food, and then ran away this morning before he woke up so I could go get coffee and try to look for a job._

_Ah yes. Gainful employment. That old grind. Prospects?_

_Think I could be a server in a restaurant?_ Phil asks.

Ian responds back with what is frankly an over the top number of cry laughing emojis.

Phil responds with one single tongue sticking out emoji.

_Loz wouldn’t even let you behind the counter at the chippie for a reason. You have the ability to break things just by existing in the same space as them._

_It’s a talent,_ Phil says. _A gift._

_It’s a disaster in waiting._

_I’m a disaster in waiting,_ Phil says. _I don’t know what to do._

 _What do you want to do?_ Ian asks.

Phil types, I want someone else to tell me what to do… and then deletes it. Even Ian doesn’t need to be exposed to insecurities that deep. He writes _idk_ instead.

He’s also a bit cross with Ian for not making him feel better. It’s not actually Ian’s job, but he’s used to escaping into Ian’s world for a bit as a distraction from his own.

 _There’s no real rush, yeah?_ Ian says after a minute or two. _You don’t have to decide today._

It’s true, technically, but it doesn’t feel true. He feels like a loser enough as it is; being unemployed is certainly not going to do him any favours. He types back Yeah, suppose not, and closes his laptop. He’s not giving up, but he’s giving up for now. He slides his macbook back into his backpack, hitches it up onto his shoulder and takes his drink to go.

It feels better to be outside, with the sun on his face and the breeze in his hair. It feels better to be moving, even if it does mean wandering around a neighbourhood he knows less than nothing about. Even if it means hearing sirens every five minutes and buses and cars and people and pigeons everywhere.

Actually, he quite likes the pigeons. They’re definitely his favourite thing about London so far. That and Dan’s fucking body wash, which is just— it’s bloody ridiculous. He can still smell it, almost like it’s lodged itself right up in his nose permanently. He’s beginning to feel genuinely unhinged. His long legs carry him wherever they feel like going, and it helps, the mindless sort of meditation of walking without a destination. He lets himself get lost knowing he can always pull Google maps up later and find his way back.

The more he walks, the better he feels. London is new. It’s uncharted territory, a proper blank slate. No ghosts lurk here, at least not the kind he’s gotten used to being haunted by. It feels bigger than Manchester, which makes sense. It is bigger, but it’s more than just the physical space and the density of the population. Martyn had said he could be anybody, but Phil finds comfort in the fact that, actually, right now he’s nobody.

It’s at that precise moment that his eyes land on a sign sellotaped to the glass door of a tiny shop called Atelier. The sign says Help Wanted, and behind the window is an explosion of colour that has Phil pushing the door open without a second thought. He doesn’t know where the impulse comes from, but the moment he’s inside, he feels a weight lift from him.

It smells like paint. The walls are lined from floor to ceiling with art and the shelves are packed with the supplies to make it: brushes, paper, paint, pencils, ink. It’s chaotic and simultaneously homey, the light soft and somehow dim even though it’s still early afternoon.

Phil thinks of his dad. His whole being is flooded with it, but for once it doesn’t feel like his heart is going to crack in half. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath in for years. His eyes prick with moisture as he stares at a painting of the view from behind a window at the golden hour before sunset.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice startles him before he can work himself up to actual tears. “Can I help you, sir?”

Phil turns around to see a woman walking towards him from behind the front counter. She looks friendly, he thinks, and pretty, objectively. In his immature days of youth he may have described her as chubby, but it definitely isn’t the right word. Her hair is shiny and black, twisted up in a messy bun on top of her head and held in place by what looks to Phil like a pencil. He usually feels instant anxiety when anyone he doesn’t know tries to talk to him, but apparently the magic contained within this shop extends to the keeper of it as well, because he actually smiles at her and says, “I don’t know why I’m here.”

She laughs. “Is it about the job?” She’s got a hint of an accent that mingles with the English, but he can’t put his finger on it. She looks Asian, but that’s not what he’s hearing.

It’s a long beat before he realizes he’s just been stood there looking at her and wondering what her story is without actually saying anything. “Um…”

She lifts an eyebrow at him, but lets him take his time.

Something finally jogs in his brain. “Yeah, what’s the job?”

“I’d think you’d just come from the pub if it weren’t still morning,” she says, then looks down at his coffee. “Maybe you just need to have another drink of that, yeah? And I’ll tell you all about it.”

There’s actually not much coffee left in the cup but he takes her advice and finishes it down. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly.

She doesn’t seem bothered, just laughs and says, “You should see me in the morning before I’ve had my coffee. I’m Stevie, this is Atelier, and I need a shop assistant. My last one just moved to Bermuda after a tawdry love affair with an older man at her art uni. It was quite fun drama to live vicariously, so if you’ve got an exciting personal life to entertain me with that’ll certainly be a bonus on your cv.”

“I’m afraid not,” Phil says, holding his hands up as if to gesture the emptiness of his life with them.

She sighs. “Well, do you at least have any shop experience?”

“Yes,” he half-lies.

WH Smith for a month as a teenager counts for _something_.

“What about experience with art?”

“No,” Phil says. “Yes. Sort of.”

“Do tell.”

“My father was…” He pauses. Does he want to tell a stranger this? Maybe so, he realizes. Something about her face makes him feel at ease. “My father loved art. He was passionate about it. He died six months ago. I was helping my mum care for him and then helping my brother run our family business. But we’re selling it, and… and I’m here now. Just moved to London yesterday.”

“Wow.” She hops up on the counter, fingers drumming on the surface. “Pay won’t be great. I give too many free vouchers away.”

“That’s fine,” Phil says. It’s not as though he’ll never need money again, but what he has will last a while if he’s careful.

“Most of the shop’s profit comes from group classes I teach in the back workshop. You’ll have to run the till most of the time, and the entire shop alone when I’m teaching a class or want a day off. It’ll involve some heavy lifting, stocking the shelves, helping me get the workshop ready when people are coming in. You’ll have to learn all of the product - brushes and different mediums and what works best for what.”

“I can learn.” He can say it with confidence as long as he doesn’t stop to think how much he’ll have to learn.

“Good,” she says, holding out her hand. “You’re hired, then.”

He steps forward to shake it, almost dazed by how quickly things are happening. He stepped in the shop not five minutes ago.

“There’s just one more thing,” she says.

His heart kicks. “Yeah?”

“Your name.”

“Oh.” He smiles sheepishly, still shaking her hand. “Yeah. It’s Phil.”

“Phil.”

“What’s yours?” he asks.

“Still Stevie.”

He finally drops her hand, only so he can bring his up to his face. “God. Sorry. I promise I’m not always this much of a wanker.”

She laughs. “I hope that’s not true.”

They exchange information before he leaves. He writes down his full name and mobile number on a paint-streaked piece of paper she procures from under the counter and she gives him her business card. “We’ll sort the details on your first day,” she tells him, waving her hand in the air dismissively. “When are you available?”

“Always,” he says. “Literally always.”

She grins. Her lips are so red. He doesn’t know much about makeup but he thinks it looks nice. Everything about her is nice. Her edges are all rounded and soft. She and her shop feel like a dream.

Once he’s thanked her profusely and torn himself away from the overwhelming aura of peace and comfort that is Atelier, he walks a few blocks and finds another cafe for his second caffeinated beverage of the day, a regular brewed coffee this time. He sits out on the patio and pulls the business card out of his pocket, determined to get the information recorded on his phone before he has the opportunity to lose track of it.

Stevie Nakamura, it says. Artist, entrepreneur. It's so unassailably cool that he can’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed about how uncool he is in comparison. He puts her number in his contacts, and has to scroll past his mum’s to do so.

He should ring her. He should’ve done it already.

He doesn’t want to. He feels better than he has in ages, and thinking about her makes him remember all the things he has to feel sad about, and he’s not ready to go back to being so goddamn morose.

-

Dan is in the lounge when Phil gets in, sat on the sofa with his legs up on the coffee table and a laptop on his thighs. He’s typing away studiously, not sparing a look Phil’s way even when Phil shuts the door a little harder than he meant to. It still feels like he’s invading a space he has no business being in, but he’s riding the high of meeting Stevie and acquiring a job with less than zero effort, so the feeling of invasion doesn’t really bother him.

He kicks off his trainers and says, “Hey.”

Dan’s eyes flick over in Phil’s direction, but only for a split second before they return to the screen in his lap. “Hi?”

“Thanks for the pizza this morning.”

“Sure,” Dan says, and Phil doesn’t miss the edge of irritation in his voice. The polite thing to do, the socially intelligent thing to do would be for Phil to go to his room and leave Dan alone.

But he’s never claimed to be socially intelligent, and apparently he’s not going to start now. He drops his backpack on the floor beside the sofa and sinks into the cushion at the end of it. He’s not close enough for any part of his body to be touching any part of Dan’s, but he reckons it's still closer than Dan would like him to be. “It was vile.”

Dan looks up properly then, a frown creased between his brows. “What?”

“The pizza. It tasted like pizza made by someone who’s never had pizza.”

Dan’s mouth twitches a little in the corner. “Sorry?” There’s a perfect pigtail curl laid against the center of his forehead.

“I hope you are,” Phil says, resting his ankle on the knee of the opposite leg. “It was a crime against food, if you ask me.”

“I actually didn’t.”

“What?”

“I didn’t ask you,” Dan says. “I was just trying to be nice.”

There’s something keeping Phil’s anxiety from creeping up, and it looks something like a tiny smile Dan’s trying desperately to keep contained.

“Right,” Phil says. “Just some constructive criticism.”

Dan snorts quietly. “That’s oddly fitting.”

“Huh?”

Dan shakes his head. “Just—” He nods down at his computer. “Currently trying to do just that. Although I guess I’m not really being constructive.”

Phil blinks his confusion when Dan looks over at him.

“Film review,” Dan says. “I write them.”

“Oh.” Phil has no idea why he’s surprised. “That’s actually a job?”

Dan snorts. “Wow, have you and my dad been talking?”

“No, I mean - I just mean - of course it’s a job,” Phil says. “I just never thought about, you know - the people who write them. Is it for like… newspapers?”

Dan shrugs. “Sometimes. Or online magazines. Sometimes I get hired out for editorial pieces. I have a standing column with one website in particular.”

Phil wants to ask what website, but he decides that since Dan isn’t volunteering that information, maybe he doesn’t want Phil to know.

Besides, Phil can just google it later.

“Made you some space,” Dan says, nodding to the shelf. “If you need more, just let me know.”

“I don’t think I will.” Phil’s eyes scan the titles he’d only briefly looked at before. “We have a lot of the same video games, no need for two copies.”

Dan perks up. “Do you like Mario Kart?”

“Uh, duh,” Phil says. “I’m ace at it.”

“Ace.” Dan mocks the accent. “You’re not as good as me, but we can still play some time. Victory is more delicious when you can see the defeat on the face of the poor sod you’ve just beaten.”

“Hey!” Phil protests. “You don’t know that you’ll win.”

Dan doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes I do.”

“I’ll bet you…” Phil flounders trying to think of something he can bet Dan. Food is generally his go-to offering but he doesn’t actually have any. “I don’t know what I’ll bet you, but - something!”

Dan chuckles. “Sure, mate. Sure. We’ll wait until your brain damage has healed then play a game, so you’ll at least have that advantage.”

Phil’s not entirely sure the damage isn’t permanent but he decides not to argue that particular point. Dan’s mention of his injury does make him realize his head is starting to throb again. He should probably have something in his system besides one slice of horrible pizza and far too much caffeine. “Do you have any takeaway recommendations?”

Dan’s mouth doesn’t so much as twitch, expression totally deadpan as he says, “I know a great pizza place.”

If Phil had known this bloke for more twenty four hours, he’d absolutely be throwing a couch cushion at his face or a punch to the shoulder. But he hasn’t, so he just says, “Ha ha. Hilarious.”

“I’ll be here all week.”

“Why would you subject yourself to vegan pizza, though, seriously?” Phil asks.

“Because I’m vegan, genius.”

“The question remains.”

“What’s that?” Dan asks. He’s smirking a little now.

“Why?” Phil repeats.

“Maybe I’m a masochist.” He flicks his eyes in Phil’s direction just for a fraction of a second. “You don’t know my life, dude.”

“I could never be vegan. Ice cream is life. And that’s coming from a bloke with lactose intolerance.”

“Maybe you’re a masochist, too.”

Phil looks at him, but he’s still got his eyes on his computer screen. His fingers are still typing away.

“I’m not,” Phil says. “Dairy products are just worth the pain. Not cheese though.”

Dan looks up and over at him. “Excuse me.”

“What?”

“Cheese is worth everything,” Dan says.

“I thought you were vegan.”

“Not a day goes by where I don’t fantasize about licking melted brie off my own nipples.”

Phil wrinkles his nose. “You couldn’t pay me.”

Dan looks at him for a long beat, then says, “You’re well strange.”

Phil shrugs. He’s been called weird his whole life, and not always in a nice way. He doesn’t think Dan means it in a not nice way, though. He seems pretty strange himself.

“What I really am is hungry.”

Dan stretches his arms over his head, arching his back and groaning in apparent satisfaction before he closes the lid of his laptop. “S’pose I could eat too.”

They end up ordering Thai: Dan’s vegan, Phil’s decidedly not. They’re still sat on the sofa, and maybe Phil should have left Dan alone by now, but he hadn’t seemed bothered by Phil hanging around. He’d even switched an anime onto the telly after ordering their food, and now they’re watching it while they eat.

Phil stabs a piece of beef with his chopstick and holds it up to his mouth to nibble at it.

“You look like a carnivorous squirrel,” Dan remarks.

“I got bitten by a squirrel once.”

“Seriously? Where?”

“Florida,” Phil says, too engrossed in his food to really think through what Dan is actually asking.

Dan barks out a laugh. “You idiot.”

Phil decides to lean into it. “Right in the Florida. We used to go there every summer on holiday.”

Dan’s still chuckling, shaking his head. “You bougie fuck.”

“If I was proper bougie I’d know how to use these.” He waves his chopsticks in the air, one with a piece of carrot skewered on the end.

Dan shakes his head. “Nothing more bougie than cultural ignorance. Especially for an Englishman.” He demonstrates his own perfect form with his wooden utensils, plucking out a mouthful of noodles gracefully. “Though I suppose you’re rooming with me now, so something must have gone wrong somewhere, eh?”

“I think I should be offended by that in like five different ways at least,” Phil says. “But I’ll forgive you if you teach me how to use these.”

Dan holds his chopsticks up and demonstrates. “Like this.”

Phil tries to copy the position. He manages to snare a piece of beef. “Oh my god, I did it—”

His fingers slip and the meat goes flying across the room, landing on the floor near the kitchen.

“Well,” Dan says. “I’m impressed by your range, at least.”

“Oops.”

“Maybe just… use the fork for now,” Dan suggests.

“Fine,” Phil grumbles, getting up to retrieve the projectile from the kitchen floor. He has to open three bottom cabinets to find where the bin is hidden but he drops it in triumphantly and returns to his food. “So where did you learn to use them?”

Dan shrugs. “Youtube. I just wanted to know how.”

“Oh. I thought maybe you had some exciting story, like a ninja in Japan taught you.”

“I can’t decide if that’s racist or not,” Dan says. “But no. No exciting stories. The only way I could afford to go to Japan is if I won the Euromillions.”

“Same,” Phil says.

“Sure, Mr. Holidays in Florida Every Year.”

“Hey, that’s not my money, that’s my—” Phil stops abruptly. ”I mean, that was when I was a kid. My mum and dad always paid for it. It’s not like they could leave me at home.”

Dan laughs dryly. “My parents did. At least a couple times. Or dumped me with my grandma.”

“I always begged to stay with my grandma,” Phil says. “She had a dog and I wanted a dog so badly.”

“I grew up with a dog. Parents got her just before I was born and she lived like, for fucking ever. I swear she was still alive when I went to uni.”

“Wow. That is an old dog. I’m sorry she died.”

“It was a decade ago. I think I’ve recovered from the loss.”

Phil swallows hard. A decade, then. Is that the time limit? Is it only for dogs? Phil can’t imagine how he feels right now ever getting better. It’s not a new pain, not any more, but it’s somehow deeper for having settled itself inside of him.

He’s not sure how long he’s quiet before Dan breaks the silence. “So where are you from, anyway? You’ve got an accent on you.”

Phil smiles, grateful for the distraction, even if he is being made fun of a little. “The north,” he says, exaggerating said accent greatly. “Just outside Manchester.”

“I went to school there. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Phil asks.

“Took law for a year, failed spectacularly, dropped out, moved to London, started over.”

“Film?”

“Journalism. Reviewing films was kind of a happy accident I guess.”

Phil nods. There’s a pit in his stomach now, all the familiar pains leaking back into his brain. He’s thinking about his dad and he’s thinking about how everyone around him seems to have the career they were destined for. He’s feeling like a little boy lost in his own life. “That’s really cool,” he says quietly. “Cool job.”

“I’m not complaining,” Dan says. “Mostly I got lucky.”

Again, Phil’s not got a proper response. It’s unfair, and he doesn’t know how to beat that feeling back. Why do some people get luck and other people get heartbreak? What had he ever done to deserve the upending of his entire world.

“What do you do?” Dan asks.

Phil looks at him. “What?”

“Like for work.”

“Oh.” He leans forward and puts his half eaten box of food on the coffee table, stomach churning. “Um. I guess I’m an art shop clerk.”

“You guess?”

Phil shrugs. “Just got the job today.”

“Huh.” Dan looks away, down at his own food, and it feels pointed enough that Phil’s paranoia spikes.

“What?”

“No, nothing, I just…” He looks at Phil and then away again. “That’s just not the answer I was expecting.”

Phil folds his arms over his chest. He hopes he looks authoritative or sure of himself, but probably it mostly just looks defensive. “What were you expecting?”

Dan sighs quietly. “Look, mate. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

They look at each other for a moment that feels tense and stretched, and then Phil kind of crumples, slumping into the softness of the sofa. “I just needed a job. Didn’t feel like going back to the one I used to have. I reckon I kind of hated it.”

“Wow,” Dan murmurs. “That’s… kind of awesome.”

“Yeah?”

“Totally.”

Phil looks down at his lap, trying not to smile. “Thanks.”

“Why London?” Dan asks.

“Same reason, I suppose,” Phil says. “Didn’t feel like going back to where I used to be. So I thought… London.”

“What if you hate it here, too?” Dan asks. “Got a plan C?”

The question makes anxiety spike through him, but he pushes it away. It’s been a good day. He won’t linger on the ways it could go wrong.

Or he’ll try not to, at least.

“Figure that out when the time comes, I suppose,” he says. “I want to give London a fair shot.”

“How long is a fair shot?”

“Why do you need to know?” Phil asks. He’s not sure if he should be irritated by the nosiness or not.

Dan smirks at him. “Want to know if I should keep that flatmate listing handy.”

Phil’s shoulders relax. “Reckon not,” he says. “I think I’ll give it… a year, at least.”

He’s not really sure where the declaration came from. His mouth just makes decisions without consulting his mind first.

“A year,” Dan repeats. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

His approval makes Phil relax even more.

-

The foam mattress is still bloody uncomfortable, but the pain from his head is better so he still feels like a human being capable of properly resting when he puts his head down against the pillow that night.

He’s just drifted off into the lightest of sleep when a sound jars him. It’s soft - the tinkling of keys, a swell of orchestra music behind it. It sounds… like something Phil has heard before, but distantly. A movie sound track his mind can’t place.

He shuts his eyes again and falls asleep to it.


	5. Chapter 5

*

*

He’s tied his tie too tight. It clings to his throat, cutting into his skin. Breath is harder to catch when you’re being slowly strangled by the trappings of your own professionalism. He works a finger between his neck and the collar of his shirt, yanking at the fabric. It doesn’t relent. 

There’s sweat dewing on his forehead, sticking his pressed white shirt to the small of his back. He’s walking familiar halls, seeing familiar faces, but no one will meet his eyes. They pass him by like he isn’t even there. 

He’s got a meeting, and he’s late for it. He should be in the conference room already, but every time he turns a corner, he’s somehow father away. The office has turned labyrinthian in the time he’d spent on leave, and no one answers when he tries to ask them for directions.

He looks at his watch. He’s late, _really_ late. The meeting is probably over by now. His phone is ringing in his pocket, he can feel it buzzing against his thigh. His mother walks past him then, wearing a black dress, cheeks streaked with tears. She doesn’t look at him either. 

His phone keeps ringing, over and over and over, the buzz loud and insistent and growing more so, until it feels like it’s coming from inside his own skull. 

His tie is squeezing the life from him, tightening like a vice.

He jerks awake, drenched in sweat. His phone is buzzing under his pillow, an alarm he doesn’t remember setting. He fishes the damn thing out and shuts it off, then lays back on dampened sheets and stares at the ceiling, willing himself to calm down. His breath comes in great gasping heaves until it finally doesn’t, and about five minutes later he groans as he sits up on his sad foamy excuse for a mattress. 

It feels nicer out on the balcony. The air is cold, and it clears his head of post nightmare fog. There’s a chair out there, a lounger, so he makes himself comfortable. It’s not early enough to watch the sun rise, but he does catch the lingering pink tinge in the clouds. The sounds of the city are present as ever, but today there’s something comforting about it. 

A gust of wind blows a little more forcefully and he shivers, pulling the hood of his ratty old York sweatshirt over his head. It’s the most threadbare article of clothing he owns, but really, it’s a wonder it’s still in one piece at all. He tries not to think about how long it’s been since he graduated. He tries to remind himself he’s doing the best he can. 

And he has options. He could go back to Manchester, back to the insurance firm, or any other firm like it. He was good at his job, he’s got education and connections and experience. 

A small voice in the back of his head says maybe he should try to find a job like it, but better. A job where he could use the skills he’s honed for something a little more creative. A little more exciting. 

But even just thinking about _thinking_ about it makes his stomach knot up with nerves. Something like that would require phone calls and networking and interviews and maybe even putting together some kind of digital portfolio. He’d have to talk himself up, sell himself, contribute ideas worthy of being shared with other humans.

He can’t do that right now. He reckons stocking shelves at an art shop is exactly what he’s currently capable of. 

There’s a coo then, and the flapping of wings, and a pigeon comes to rest on the edge of the balcony. 

“Hiya Gerald.” It’s probably not Gerald, it’s probably just one of a million pigeons that prowl the balconies of London looking for scraps, but Phil’s not bothered. Any of them who choose to land on this particular balcony and cock their heads at him are worthy of the moniker. 

Phil wishes he had some seeds. He makes a mental note to pick some up when he finally gets his shit together enough to acquire some groceries. Then he pulls his phone out and snaps a picture and sends it to Ian. Gerald flies away, but it’s alright, because Ian has texted back pretty much immediately.  
_  
You’ve been in the city for what, two days? And you’re already Snow White-ing it up with local wildlife_

Phil smiles. _Shut up you’re just jealous_

_Totally. I wish I could get the plague from a flying rat but I guess you’ll just have to be the lucky one this time, eh?_

Phil sends a photo of himself flipping the bird in response, along with: _Why are you even awake? It’s so bloody early_

 _I have a child, you div,_ Ian texts. 

Phil smiles at that, too. He misses the kid already. _Say hello to Em for me_

_She wants to know if you’ve met the queen yet_

Phil says, _Tell her she’s the only queen in my life_

She says _“you’re silly uncle philly”_

Phil laughs. _She’s got excellent poetry skills_

Ian texts a photo of Emily curled up on the floor with Lucy the dog. The fondness that wells up inside him is so much that it almost hurts. 

_Do you think I was mad to move here?_ Phil asks, after staring at the photo and overthinking so much his eyes threaten to blink out tears.

_Mate, of course I do. You’re definitely mad. Stark raving_

Phil sighs. He was afraid of that.

But then Ian texts again. _Mad as a hatter, and I couldn’t be prouder of you for it._

Phil stares down at the text for a while before he finally smiles. He appreciates that he can properly hear it in his head as if Ian were talking to him. He can’t quite find the words to respond with something genuine so he sends a warthog and a hat instead. 

Ian sends him a chicken, an orange diamond, and a castle. _How’s the flatmate?_

 _He’s alright,_ Phil types back. _Haven’t chatted to him much._

_But he’s not a cunt about anything? Like the whole gay bit?_

Phil frowns. _Hasn’t come up yet._

_Mate._

_What?_

_Don’t you think you should get that out of the way?_

Annoyance flares through him. _Why? I don’t have to announce that I’m bent every time I walk into a room any more than you have to announce you’re straight._

Phil sees the dots that indicate typing appear and then go away again a few times before Ian finally responds, _I didn’t mean it like that._

 _Then how did you mean it?_ Phil feels bolder for it not being an actual phone conversation. He’s not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing. 

_I just don’t want you getting hurt if he’s a tosser about it._

_My feelings can handle it._ They probably can’t, Phil knows, but he still wants to save face. 

_I didn’t mean your feelings,_ Ian says. _You’re a bit of a twig, mate._

Phil’s been lucky enough in his life to never feel in physical danger because of his sexuality. It’s not that he’s ignorant to that kind of homophobia, it just hasn’t ever been a problem that he’s faced personally. And he’s reasonably certain that he won’t face it at the hands of Dan. He types back, _It’s alright. So is my new flatmate._

 _I suppose it’s none of my business,_ Ian says.

Phil agrees, but he thinks saying so would be unnecessarily harsh, so he says nothing, slipping his phone back into the pocket of his hoodie.

He doesn’t go back inside until his toes feel like they’re starting to freeze. 

-

Dan doesn’t wake up til about half ten. He comes shuffling down the hall like a zombie, hair a mess, hand shoved up under a very lived in looking camo print shirt and scratching at his stomach. He yawns and throws Phil a raspy, “Morning.”

Phil is so bored of sitting on the sofa playing app games on his phone that he springs up and follows where Dan’s gone into the kitchen. Maybe he’s half hoping Dan will offer him some coffee. 

He’s definitely hoping Dan will offer him some coffee.

“I need coffee,” is his way of being subtle about his hopes.

Dan grunts, grabbing the kettle and handing it to Phil. “I only have instant right now.”

“That’s my favourite,” Phil says cheerily. “I do need to get some of my own - and, um, a bit of everything else.” 

The leftovers from last night’s takeaway are the only thing he actually has at all. 

“I do Tesco delivery,” Dan says. “Helps in my general life’s mission of avoiding people at all costs. You can tell me what you want and Paypal me your share, no sense in subjecting two people to climbing up those stairs.”

“There is a lift,” Phil says, confused. 

“Oh, it actually worked for you?” Dan laughs. “That’s cute.” 

Phil narrows his eyes. “I don’t trust that.” 

“The lift is what you shouldn’t trust,” Dan says. “Most of the time I see it it’s got tape across the doors.” 

“That’s horrible!” Phil’s building in Manchester had been nice. Not posh, by any means, but nice. 

“No, getting trapped in a lift is horrible,” Dan corrects. 

Something occurs to Phil. “Are you alright with me ordering not vegan stuff?” 

Dan actually laughs. “Mate, if I weren’t going to allow meat or dairy in the vicinity, I’d have put that in the listing.” 

“Okay I just wasn’t sure about… you know, cross-contamination.” Phil laughs at himself, knowing he’s expressing his thoughts clumsily. “I still don’t understand why you’d limit yourself like that.”

“Do you not like animals?” Dan asks. “Thought you said you were a dog lover.”

“I am,” Phil says, genuinely affronted. “I love animals more than most things.”

“But you’re alright with eating their flesh? And the milk meant for their babies?”

Phil just stands there with his mouth slightly agape. He’s not got any kind of defense if Dan is going to frame it like that.

But then Dan snickers. “I’m taking the piss.” 

Phil exhales the breath he’d had caught in his lungs, watching Dan reach up into the cupboard to pull down two mugs and a glass jar of Nescafé. 

“I mean, if you really think about it, it’s kind of fucked up, but it’s the way our whole society is set up. It’s not this fully black and white thing. And I wanna pretend I do it for ethical reasons and the environment and all that, but that’s only a small part of it.”

“What’s the other part?” Phil asks, his voice gone a bit croaky.

Dan shrugs. “My git of a brother.”

Phil would like to ask more about that, but the kettle pops and Dan says, “There’s milk in the fridge if you wanna grab it. It’s oat,” and the moment passes. Phil makes a mental note, though. Maybe he’s not the only one with some complex family issues.

Instead he asks, “D’you have sugar? Sugar’s vegan right?”

Dan barks a laugh, pointing to the cupboard behind Phil’s head. He’s got a lovely smile, Phil can’t help noticing, just objectively. Really lovely dimples. 

Phil grabs the oat milk from the fridge and the sugar from the cupboard and Dan doles out two scoops of powdered coffee into each mug. They fix their drinks the way they want them in amiable silence. Dan leans back against his counter with his mug held up in front of his face. Phil mirrors him and his glasses fog up, but he can still make out Dan smirking at him.

“Thanks, by the way,” Phil says, then takes a long sip to scald away the weird anxiety he feels being that sincere.

“For what?”

“The coffee,” Phil says. “The pizza yesterday. Letting me use your mugs and watch your tv. Letting me live here. Everything, I guess.”

Dan seems to feel just as squirmy about the earnestness. He shrugs. “You’re paying me rent, it’s not like I’m being selfless. And there’s always a bit of food overlap with flat mates.”

“Sure,” Phil says quickly. “Still.” He takes another sip of coffee, scrambling to come up with a change of subject. “Oat milk’s not that bad,” is what he comes up with.

“How are you drinking that right away?” Dan asks. “It’s hot as satan’s ballsack.”

Phil sputters, laughing. “I just need the caffeine too much! My mum always said I don’t have enough patience.”

“Have you heard of cold brew?” Dan asks. “Your tongue would thank me.” 

Phil waves a hand dismissively. “You get used to it.”

“I’ll keep my nerve endings, thanks,” Dan says. He blows on his coffee. “Anyway. I have some more work to do. Just text me what you want for the Tesco order.” He walks off to his room, so Phil makes himself comfortable on the sofa again.

Now that Dan’s mentioned it, the idea of having food that’s accessible and guilt-free sparks as much life into him as the coffee does. He pulls his phone out and starts making a list on his phone as he sips his coffee. 

He’s halfway through when his mobile starts to ring, a picture of his mum’s smiling face displacing the notes app. He stares at it for so long that it goes to voicemail, and then feels an immediate wave of guilt wash over him. 

He stands up and walks back out the balcony. The sun has warmed the day some and he sits again to ring her back. 

She answers almost right away. “There he is, my long lost child of the world.” 

As weird as he feels, it’s comforting to hear her voice. “Mum, I didn’t go that far away.” 

She’s going further away than he did, he almost says, but doesn’t. He also doesn’t say that he wouldn’t have gone anywhere at all if she hadn’t all but made him. 

He doesn’t want to fight with her. He doesn’t want all these bad feelings he has building inside of himself. 

“How are you, then? How’s the big city life?” She sounds so genuinely excited for him that it almost makes him angry. “Tell me all about it.”

“It’s fine,” he says. “The flat’s fine. My flatmate’s fine.” 

“Do you think you’ll get on with him?” 

“Sure,” Phil says. “He likes movies. Some of the same video games as me.” 

“Where’s he from?” 

Phil laughs. “You’re so nosy, mum! He’s from Wokingham. Near Reading, I think he said.” 

“Oh, southern boy.” She tuts. 

“Certainly not northern,” Phil agrees. “But it’s fine. I think we’ll get on.” 

“Have you been so busy bonding with a new mate that you couldn’t answer your phone?” she asks. 

He winces. Of course she’d not let that go. “I’ve been busy unpacking and getting things sorted.” 

“Couldn’t spare ten minutes anytime in the past two days?” 

He breathes in and then out deliberately, waiting for his irritation to wane. When it doesn’t, he says, quietly, “You know I wasn’t really ready for this. I’m doing my best, mum. I didn’t feel like talking.”

There’s a tense stretch of silent seconds before she responds. “Right.” The sadness in her voice is unmistakable. 

He bites his lip and looks out over the edge of the balcony. He shouldn’t have said that. Just like he shouldn’t have snapped at Ian earlier. His best isn’t good enough; he needs to try harder. “The view from my balcony is cool,” he says. “I can see double decker buses drive right by my building.”

She’s gracious in accepting his olive branch. “Proper city boy now, you are.”

He laughs. “Dunno about that. It’s all kind of terrifying.”

“Have you gone exploring yet?”

“Kind of. Just in search of coffee, mostly. Didn’t have to go far, there are shops bloody everywhere.”

“It’s not like Manchester was small,” she points out. “You’re not rusty already, are you?”

“Manchester’s not like London. London is…” He’s not sure of the right word. After a moment he gives up trying to be eloquent and just says, “Big.”

“Aye. Your brother loves it though, doesn’t he?”

Phil rolls his eyes. She can’t see him, he’s allowed. “Martyn and I are very different people, mum.”

“Oh hush, I know that. But he says there’s something there for everyone.”

He thinks of the art shop then, the pretty little art shop with its messy shelves and its French name and the super cool lady who was foolish enough to hire him. He thinks of it and hopes it might be his something - at least for now.

He doesn’t tell her about it. He can’t bear to think what she might say.

He’s quiet enough that she speaks again. “He also says your flatmate seems nice.”

“He did?” Phil asks, snapping back to attention. He switches his phone to the other ear. “What did he say exactly?”

“That he’s young and—”

“Why was Martyn talking to you about my flatmate?” Phil interrupts. 

“Because I asked, Phil. You weren’t exactly knocking down my door with details.”

He sighs and pushes his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He wants to tell her that she can’t just boot him out of the nest and still expect to know every detail of his daily goings-on, but he bites his tongue. “Martyn and Dan spoke for, like, ten minutes tops.”

“Oh, Dan. That’s a nice name. Is he— I mean, is he…?”

Phil waits, but she doesn’t elaborate. “Is he what?”

She sighs. “I just worry about you, love. I wonder if you feel safe there. With him.”

He stands there dumbfounded for a moment. “Are you asking if he’s alright with having a gay flatmate?” 

“I just want you to be safe,” she reiterates. 

He wonders what it says about him that his mum and his best mate don’t seem to think he can take care of himself. The irritation that had almost abated before suddenly feels like an obstacle he can only work his way through, not around. “I can take care of myself.” 

There’s defeat evident in her voice. “Of course you can,” she says. “You’re just my little boy, you know.” 

“I’m thirty three years old, mum,” he snaps back. 

“Of course.” She sounds properly chasisted, and he instantly hates that just as much. “Well, perhaps you’ll end up finding just the right person in London.” 

Ah, another old familiar topic. She’s always been put off that he doesn’t talk about his social life with his family very often. He’s sure she thinks that he has far more of one than he really does. Before Martyn met Cornelia, he brought every girlfriend home to meet his mum and dad - one or two a year, usually. 

Phil just hasn’t had that many boyfriends. In fact, there’s only really been Ben, and even that was never a steady thing. It was mostly just two gay boys who went through the same struggle in the same place turning to each other because they felt safest together. 

And it didn’t hurt that Ben was fit, and they did have the right sort of chemistry in the bedroom. Phil doesn’t regret any of the years he spent circling in and out of Ben’s orbit, but he has to think if they were really ever going to make a go of it they’d have done it by now instead of spending the whole of their twenties coming close then backing away again. 

“Maybe,” he says, capitulating on that topic at least just to find some common ground with her. 

It wouldn’t be the worst thing, to have someone to really feel like he belonged with, but he also knows deep down that he’s not about to throw himself into the London dating scene. Even the thought of it is exhausting. He needs to figure out how to just be before he can even think of being with someone. 

Dating sounds like an awful headache, anyway. 

“Mum,” he says, cutting off whatever she was about to say. “I’ve really got to get back to unpacking.” 

The defeat in her voice has a resigned tinge to it now. “Alright, love. But ring me tomorrow, will you?” 

“Sure,” he says. Gerald lands on the balcony railing a bit further down. The look he’s giving Phil seems to be disapproving. He sticks his tongue out at the pigeon and then says, “I love you, mum.” 

She instantly softens. “I love you too, my baby boy. A mum worries, just can’t be helped.” 

“I know,” he says. “I’ll ring you soon.” 

He hangs up and then just stays there for a moment looking out at the city that’s apparently his now, before he goes in to finish his grocery list and make good on his word about unpacking. 

*

He’s putting his small collection of plates and mugs into the cabinet Dan freed up for him when the grocery order arrives. Dan appears out of his bedroom like he’s emerging from his cave, dressed in comfortable sweats and a t-shirt now. 

“This is like five times more than I normally order,” Dan informs him as they carry the bags in. “I hope this is a lot of staples and not how much you eat every week.” 

“A lot of it is staples,” Phil says, exaggerating slightly. 

He’s had too many months of his mum being in charge of the meals - not to mention all the food people brought over to them after his father died. 

He forcibly shoves that thought out of his head. 

Dan holds up a packet of chocolate dipped digestives. “Staples?” 

Phil grabs them out of his hand. “Yes, staples.” 

As he stocks the fridge back up, Phil gets a glimpse at what Dan’s ordered. Non-dairy yoghurts, some fruit, cashew milk… at least he won’t be tempted to steal any of Dan’s food, Phil supposes. 

“Do you cook?” Dan asks. 

“No,” Phil admits. “I used to just order loads of takeaway.” 

“Same. Once in a while I do up a curry or something, but I’m lazy and London’s 24 hour restaurants have literally destroyed my will to pick up a spatula ever.” Dan sticks a bag of frozen vegetables into the freezer. “That and cereal. I live on cereal.” 

“Oh, me too,” Phil says. 

“I can tell.” Dan hands a bag to Phil. It contains a family sized box of Shreddies, a box of Crunchy Nut, and a box of Frosties. “Are you secretly a family of ten renting out one room?” 

“No, but if I walk by in a trenchcoat, please look the other way,” Phil says. 

Something in him is relaxing slightly, unwinding at the normalcy of interaction with another person who doesn’t really know anything about him or his situation. He’s almost sad when they finish putting things away and Dan disappears back to his own room. 

-

By the end of the night his room is mostly sorted out - not much in the way of furniture but he’s got things stacked and piled in a more or less orderly fashion. 

There’s one box he leaves unpacked and shoved off into the corner of the room. It’s the one that has all the things that remind him of his dad: photo albums, art supplies, sketchbooks. He’s not ready to touch that box. Not even close.

Instead he lies on his foam and starts making a list of what he’ll need to buy to actually make this room feel like his, but gives up halfway through in favor of playing Crossy Road on his phone. 

He doesn’t even realize it’s proper night time until the music starts up again. It’s not loud enough to bother him, but enough to make out the soft piano melodies through the wall between their rooms. 

He wonders if Dan’s playing it himself or if it’s just something he puts on to help him fall asleep. He has half a mind to send him a text and ask, when his phone starts ringing. 

It’s Stevie. Phil’s voice is husky from disuse when he answers, having been alone in his room for the entire last half of the day.

“Merde,” she says, “did I wake you?” There’s a slight rustling sound and then, “Oh god. I didn’t know it was that late.”

Phil chuckles. “S’alright, I actually didn’t either.”

“You’re not one of those people who go to bed at like nine, are you?” she asks. He thinks he detects a vague hint of judgement in her tone, which just makes him even more amused.

“Definitely not. If I let myself, I’d probably have the sleep schedule of an owl.”

“Oh good.” She sounds genuinely relieved. “Me too.”

“Would you rescind the job offer if I liked to get up early and, like… go for morning jogs or something?” Phil asks, unsure of where the boldness comes from but allowing himself to lean into it anyway.

“God. I mean, no, I wouldn’t. I’m not a monster. But I’d definitely be judging you.”

“You still kind of are,” Phil points out. “It just so happens the judgment is in my favour.”

She laughs. “Touché.”

“I can wake up early, though,” Phil says. “For work. If you need me to.”

“Luckily for both of us, no one really goes shopping for paint brushes before ten am, so you’ll never have a shift that starts earlier than that. Anyway, that’s why I’m ringing you at this very unprofessional hour, to schedule your first shift.”

Ten minutes later, he’s smiling as he hangs up the phone and slides it under his pillow. He closes his eyes, hoping Dan’s music will help him drift off quickly. Tomorrow he starts work. 

He’s hoping it’ll be a proper good start to the rest of his life.


	6. Chapter 6

*

*

It’s refreshing to wake in the morning and make his own favorite brand of coffee with his own straight-from-the-cow’s-teat milk, to shower and dress with a purpose in mind that feels more exciting than terrifying.

Alright, still a bit terrifying. He’s not sure he has it in him to head into something as potentially life altering as a new job without being at least twenty seven point three percent scared, but it’s a manageable amount.

He knocks it down to a round twenty when he walks into the store and sees Stevie dancing to Frank Ocean, waving her arms around over her head and swaying her ass. He looks around, wondering if anyone else is around, but they seem to be the only ones here. He clears his throat and she jumps, turning and laughing.

“Oi, mate, wear a bell or something!” She seems nonplussed by being caught out.

“No one’s ever accused me of being covert,” Phil says. “I think the phrase my mum used more often is ‘bull in a china shop’.”

“Good job there’s no China here then, eh?” she asks, somehow making the words sound elegant in her accent. “Brushes don’t break when you knock them down, and I should know. I’ve done it plenty of times.”

“Paint does spill, though,” Phil points out.

“Yeah, then you just spill a second pot of it. Tell anyone gawking at you that it’s a new abstract piece you’re considering.”

Phil laughs. “Oh, good advice.”

“You’ll get the hang of it.” She smiles, then shifts into business mode. “Breakroom and toilet are both through the door back there. We don’t hire out services so if your aim is shit, it’s on you to clean it up. If someone else’s aim is shit - that’s probably on you too, sorry, mate.”

Cleaning up the toilet is part of his job description. He makes a mental note.

“You know how to run a cash?” she asks. “I’ve got the inventory list memorized, but it’s in the computer system as well. Most of what you’ll be doing is selling spots in my classes, and basic supplies. If people come in looking for advice, you can push those to me.”

“Oh, good,” Phil says faintly, rubbing his suddenly sweaty palms against the black jeans he’d decided were the most art store appropriate trousers he owns. (Mostly because it was that or sweatpants.)

She keeps on going, leading him on a tour around the store. He tries desperately to file as much of the information away as he can but after twenty minutes his head is swimming with types of paint and the difference in what is used for what.

She seems to sense how overwhelmed he is and gives him a slightly sympathetic but also slightly amused smile. “You’ll get it,” she says. “And there are always plenty of people around to ask. My mates tend to swan in and out of the shop, more of them than proper customers on most days. Occasionally they’ll do classes in my space - they keep all but a small fee. We’ll go through that process when it happens, though.”

She’s explaining the difference in the types of paper when someone walks through the door. For a moment Phil just stands there, but Stevie puts her hand on his back and shoves. He stumbles forward and says, “Hi there, how can I help you?”

It’s a girl who looks to still be a teenager with gauges in her ears and blue hair. “I got it,” she says, and walks to the graphite pencils.

Phil gives Stevie a helpless look.

Stevie shrugs. “She’s got it,” she mouths, then grins.

Phil rolls his eyes and walks over to the counter, standing behind the register. Stevie has to guide him through every step of the checkout and he tries not to notice how the girl rolls her eyes.

Teenagers are terrifying, he thinks. They’ve got no time for you and aren’t afraid to let you know it. He was afraid of them when he was one and he’s still afraid of them now.

He manages to not overcharge her a quadrillion pounds and even gets the pencil set in the bag without his hands shaking. When she walks out, he breathes a clearly too noisy sigh of relief, because it makes Stevie laugh at him.

“Congratulations!” She pats his shoulder. “Your first sale.”

He wants to be even more embarrassed, but a bit of pride sneaks in there too. “Rethinking your hiring practices?” he asks, smiling sheepishly.

She smiles back. She’s quite smiley. “Non.”

Phil’s eyebrows shoot up. Suddenly it’s clear what the accent is that he’s been hearing. “You’re French.”

She laughs. “Oui.”

“And… Japanese?” he guesses, remembering the surname he’d read off her business card. Before he can berate himself internally for being a nosy, possibly problematic idiot, she’s giving him an answer.

“I mean… kind of. Technically. My dad was born there but he’s lived in France for most of his life and never tried that hard to teach me how to speak it.”

“That’s so cool. Have you ever been?”

She nods, hopping backwards up onto the counter, her back to the front of the shop. It’s such a smooth practiced movement that he imagines she must do it all the time. Then again, even in the short amount of time he’s spent in her presence, he can tell she’s the type who’s smooth in everything she does. Maybe it’s an artist thing.

Not that his dad was always smooth. His Lester genes must have been a bit stronger than the artist ones.

Stevie interrupts his rambling thoughts. “I have, yeah. It’s amazing.”

“I’ve always wanted to go,” Phil says. “If I had a bucket list, that would be near the top.”

“Do you not have one?” She frowns. “Everyone should have a bucket list.”

He leans back against the painted white brick wall. It’s ludicrous that he should feel this at ease already, on his first day at a new job, working with someone who gets cooler with every new thing he learns about her, but he does. He feels good here. It wasn’t a fluke last time.

“I have no idea what I’d put on mine,” he admits.

“You’d put Japan,” she says, smiling more softly, like she understands all the pain and uncertainty left unspoken in his statement.

“What’s on yours?” he asks. He feels like he’s allowed to ask.

She doesn’t seem to need any time to think. “Dying my hair blue.”

“That’s an easy one!” he says excitedly. “You could do that one today.”

She reaches up to pull at the scrunchie holding her hair into a messy bun. It comes falling down her shoulders in waves of shiny black, and he gawks a little at how much there is. It nearly swallows her up entirely, and she isn’t a petite woman.

“Wow,” Phil murmurs. “That’s a lot of hair.”

She nods, already working on getting it put back up. “I’m a bit attached to it. It’s annoying. I wish I could just change it, but it feels scary for some reason.”

Phil nods. “Change is terrifying.”

“I’m usually pretty good with it, that’s the thing.” She refastens the scrunchie. “It’s just this goddamn hair. It’s infuriating.”

“I used to dye mine,” Phil tells her. “I’ve only been leaving it natural for like a year. Kind of… stopped caring about personal appearance so much at that time.”

She looks confused.

“Because my dad was sick,” he adds quietly. Her soft face fills with pity and he hates it, so he just keeps talking. “For a solid decade and a half it was black.”

She cocks her head, studying his face. “I can’t picture that. You’re so pale.”

Phil laughs. “I know. I kind of liked that it looked weird. Like it was the one thing that set me apart, or something. Made me less boring.”

“You don’t look boring,” she says without hesitation. “Your eyes are like the sea after a storm.”

His shoulders stiffen. He’d misread things entirely, apparently. Before he can think better of it, he blurts, “I’m gay.”

“That’s nice,” she says, not missing a beat. “You don’t get a pay rise for that, but I’m happy for you.”

He gawks at her… and then she laughs.

And laughs.

And _laughs_.

He’s starting to wonder when she finally wipes her eyes and says, “Sorry, sorry. That was just - your face, mate - priceless.”

He shifts his weight uncomfortably. “Sorry, I just—”

“No, no, it’s fine.” She waves a hand. “At least I don’t have to worry about you falling madly in love with me. I like to observe the drama as an omniscient audience, not partake in it myself.”

“I don’t like drama at all,” Phil says weakly, trying to recover from his embarrassment. It helps that she’s not taking it very seriously, but his mind is still conjuring all the ways that could have been an abrupt end to his gainful employment.

“You’ll just have to get used to people taking a poetic license with visualizations around here. We’re downright obnoxious about it sometimes, you know. I should have just said your eyes are very blue, or something like normal humans say. Désolée. Anyway, you won’t be the only one - art circles are always a bit queer, yeah?”

“Are they?” Phil asks. “I’ve never really had mates who were artists. Just… my dad. And he wasn’t… you know. Queer.”

“Maybe he was.” She flashes a grin. “You never know.”

“I know,” Phil says. “He and my mum were like… a storybook romance.”

Her smile goes sad and sympathetic. “They sound lovely.”

He swallows. His throat feels tight in that way he’s all too familiar, but he shoves the feeling back down inside. He can’t humiliate himself verbally _and_ cry his first day on the job. “My father loved art. He would have loved this store. I wish I’d let him teach me more back when he wanted to.”

“You’ll learn,” she says.

“I’ll have to.” He still isn’t sure what the girl in before bought. He doesn’t know what makes graphite pencils any different than normal ones. “Why did you hire someone with no experience?”

“You can be taught what a tool does,” she says. “You can even be taught how to make art. But you can’t be taught to _respect_ art. You have to possess that on your own.”

He doesn’t have the faintest idea what she means, but it sounds nice. “And I do?”

“You do,” she confirms. “I could see it on your face when you walked in. You looked like you’d just seen something magical. That’s what I want from people who work in my store. I want them to feel like the art is _magic_.”

“I do,” he says quietly. “That’s exactly what this place feels like. It’s the first time since my dad died that I’ve been able to remember him for what he loved and not just how sick he got in the end.”

“If I knew you better I’d give you a hug right now.”

“It’s probably better you don’t,” Phil says. “I’d probably cry.”

She waves her hand dismissively. “I love me a man who isn’t afraid to cry.” She smirks. “You know. Platonically. It’s just a personality trait I appreciate. Not hitting on you. Promise.”

Phil hides his face in his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m so awkward.”

“It’s endearing,” she says. “And I’m glad to know it anyway. Now I know we can talk about boys together.”

“So you’re not…” He almost says gay, because that’s the word he uses for himself, but he decides to use her word. It sounds more sophisticated. “Queer?”

“Bisexuality exists.”

His stomach sinks. “Sorr—”

“I’m not though,” she says, grinning. “Sorry, couldn’t resist.”

He’s not quite recovered enough to speak words, so she just keeps taking. “I slept with a girl at uni once, at a party. I’m such a cliché. Honestly, the fact that I’m not really into it is proof that sexuality definitely isn’t a choice.”

Phil laughs. It’s shaky and his heart is still pounding, but it seems clear that she’s not going to hold his ignorance against him. “Yeah. Definitely. I tried to be straight for like my entire adolescence.”

“That’s what Théo said, too. My boyfriend. He’s bi. He said he didn’t let himself admit that for years, but I guess maybe it’s easier to be in denial if you actually are attracted to the opposite sex, too.”

Phil feels like he’s reeling. He opens his mouth to say something - he’s honestly not sure what - but she cuts him off again.

“Sorry.” She shakes her head at herself. “I’m doing that thing again. Over sharing. Talking way too much.”

“No,” Phil says. “It’s nice, actually.”

“You can always politely tell me to shut up.” She hops down off the counter. “My mates are constantly begging me to be quiet.”

“I reckon I’m quiet enough for the both of us,” Phil says.

She smiles, crouching down to grab what looks like a notebook from under the counter. “So tell me something.”

“I’ve already told you more than I tell most people,” he admits. “At least until I’ve known them a long time.”

“Tell me more.” She grabs a pencil and opens the book, flipping through sketches until she gets to a clean page. “Tell me something you want.”

He watches her write _Phil’s bucket list_ at the top of the page.

She’s shameless. Phil can’t understand why, but he really fucking loves it.

“Japan,” he says. She writes it down. “Um…”

She looks up at him. He shrugs.

“That’s a start,” she says, closing the book and putting it back under the counter. “But we’re gonna work on this.”

“Are we?”

She nods. “Dreams are important, _Philipe_.”

He smiles. His name almost sounds cool when she says it like that.

-

Half a dozen people trickle into the store over the next few hours. By the last one he’s got a reasonable grasp on how to handle the register, though he knows it’ll be ages before he understands the inventory system.

“I’ve got a class at half hour so I’ll be leaving you to run it while I’m teaching,” she says. “Do you think you can handle it?”

He doesn’t, but he nods anyway. He spends half an hour greeting people as they filter in. Stevie introduces him to people whose names he’s sure he won’t remember. Especially not the way she does, greeting every person so warmly and with such familiarity that he’d assume they were all close personal friends.

Maybe they are, he thinks. Or maybe that’s just how she is with everyone.

The door is closed while she teaches but he can still hear the laughter coming in. He takes the quiet time to walk around and stare at the art pieces on the wall some, and then checks facebook on his phone.

His mum’s made a post about packing for her trip. He frowns intensely at it, then pointedly doesn’t click the like button. He can’t think about her going to Florida - can’t think about this trip that she’s really told him very little about.

(That he’s _asked_ very little about.)

Will she be staying in a house that they’ve stayed in before? Will she and Auntie Roz go to Gatorland? Will it be enjoyable at all without his dad there making horrible jokes that they all groan at?

Who will she tell to put suncream on? Who will she walk along the beach hand in hand with?

Phil puts the phone face down on the countertop and rubs his face with his hands.

He doesn’t want to feel sucker punched by these awful feelings today. He lifts his head again and his eyes land on the painting right across from him. It’s abstract, and he’s never had a mind for abstract art - it all just looks like something a child would make. Not this one, though. This one is a swirl of greens, like something misty and ethereal, with a series of black slashes through it. It almost makes the canvas look like it’s gaping open, like something violent needed to interrupt the peace of the other colors.

He tries to figure out what it makes him feel. There are reactions battling inside him; part of him that wants to reach his fingers into the black and tug on the edges, rip it open even more - and part of him that wants to soothe it back to niceness, to restore the peace to it.

He’s still staring at it when the door opens and the art students start to spill out into the front of the store. He’s grateful that no one really tries to make conversation with him, and Stevie has seen everyone out after about five minutes.

Then she comes to stand next to him, mimicking his crossed arms and single minded focus on the painting. He can’t tell if she’s mocking him or not.

“Who painted this?” he asks.

“Me.”

He nods. That probably should have been obvious.

She asks, “How does it make you feel?”

He frowns, trying to make sense of the dreamy green haze slashed through with harsh black lines. Then he looks at her. “Conflicted.”

She smiles, gesturing back toward the studio with her head. “C’mon. I want you to do something for me.”

She sits him down at a paint-flecked table with a piece of paper and a palette of smeary oil colours obviously left over from the class she’d just got through teaching. She hands him a clean brush and says, “Go.”

“Go?”

“Paint.”

Phil just sits there, staring down at the blank spot where he’s apparently expected to make something happen. “How?”

“Dip your brush in the paint and then put it on the paper,” she says.

He looks at her helplessly, feeling daft.

“You were feeling something big,” she says. “I could see it after class.”

He nods.

“Look at the colours,” she tells him. “Don’t think too much. Just look at them and pick the one that speaks to you.”

He picks pink. He’s not sure he’s ever picked pink above another colour in his entire bloody life, but he does it now, swiping his brush through the blob of paint indelicately and then bringing it over to his humble canvas.

He doesn’t notice that she’s left him until he looks up later and she isn’t there watching him anymore.

Somehow he’s managed to get paint all over his hands, and the ‘art’ he has to show for it is laughably amateur. But it’s something. He did it and it looks bad, but he likes it. And he feels better. He’s not sure what to do with it, so he leaves it on the table and goes to wash his hands at the sink in the corner of the room. When he’s done, Stevie is back, leaning over the table studying his creation.

“It’s brighter than I expected,” she says.

He nods. He’d picked the most vibrant blues and yellows and pinks he could find.

“Is it a flamingo?”

“Yeah.” He reaches up to rub the back of his neck, feeling strangely exposed. “I know it’s crap.”

“There’s no such thing as crap art,” she says.

He gives her a look. It’s so strange that he feels comfortable enough with her already to do that, to arrange his face at her in a way that says _you’re full of shit, mate_.

She shrugs. “It’s just what I believe. If there’s feeling behind it, it can’t be crap.” She smiles. “And now you know how oils work.”

-

His feet hurt by the time he makes it back to the flat. He’s not used to being stood up all day long. Kicking off his trainers is bliss, and he groans his satisfaction as he does it.

“Well, that’s a noise I’m not sure I should be hearing,” Dan says. He’s standing in the doorway to the kitchen looking very amused.

Phil jumps and slaps his hand over his mouth. “Oh my god, I forgot someone else lived here.”

“Obviously.”

“Sorry, I’m just so glad to be home.”

“I noticed I had the place to myself all day,” Dan says. He has a bowl of cereal in his hand and takes a bite after speaking.

Phil’s stomach rumbles. He’d gotten a little lunch break - sandwiches from a shop next door to the art store - but he’s used to being able to snack whenever he wants.

Suddenly cereal sounds amazing, too.

“I started work today,” Phil says, walking past him and grabbing his massive box of Crunchy Nut.

“Copycat,” Dan says, stepping aside so Phil has plenty of space. It’s not a large kitchen - nothing in this flat is large.

“Yours looked good, I can’t help it!” Phil whines slightly.

Dan lingers there watching Phil just long enough without saying anything that Phil starts to feel a bit weird about being observed. Finally Dan says, “I’ve got my laundry shit all in the lounge, sorry. Put on an anime and I’ve been folding clothes.”

“Oh.” Phil opens a drawer to find a spoon, but it’s full of spatulas and ladles. He tries a second one and finds serving spoons, a weird pronged one for spaghetti, and a tin opener. He takes one of the serving spoons, hesitating before grabbing it. He feels awkward making it more obvious he doesn’t know where anything is, even though he’s not sure why Dan would expect him to. “That’s alright, I can eat in my room.”

“Mate.” Dan takes a last bite of cereal and then goes to dump the bowl in the sink. “You can hang out in there. I was just warning you.”

“What anime is it?” Phil asks. He takes a very large bite of his food and chews thoroughly, his grandma’s warnings from childhood ringing in his ear.

“You like anime?” Dan asks. “I’m watching Food Wars.”

“I love Food Wars!” Phil says, relieved to have found common ground. “Is it the new series? I haven’t seen that yet.”

“I’m on the third episode but I can back it up,” Dan says. “We can start from the first one. I kept having to pause it to take care of my laundry anyway.”

“Sure.” Phil smiles and takes a big bite of his cereal.

“By the way,” Dan says, turning to leave the room. “You’re welcome to use comically oversized kitchenware all you want, I won’t judge your lifestyle. But the regular spoons are in the drawer by the sink.”

“I knew that.”

“Sure you did, bub. Sure you did.”

-

He hangs out in the lounge with Dan for a couple of episodes. It’s a bit awkward to sit there while Dan just folds his pants but after the first one Dan’s got all his laundry sorted and takes it into his room. When he comes back he has a thin Macbook in one hand and he slouches comfortably at the opposite end of the sofa from Phil.

“Keep going?” Dan asks, as the second one comes to an end.

“Um.” Phil yawns, a very timely gesture that serves as a response to Dan. “Maybe not.”

“Wow, they must have worn you out at that shop,” Dan says.

Phil doubts anything he did really warranted how tired he is, it’s more down to how he hasn’t worked a proper job in over a year. Still, no harm in letting Dan think something nicer than reality, so he just shrugs.

“Alright, goodnight.” Dan gives him a brief smile then goes right back to investing his full attention in his laptop.

There’s a sense of relief when Phil closes the door to his bedroom. It’s not that Dan’s bad company at all, it’s just - the day is over. His first day at his new job in this new city in his weird new life.

It’s good.

Isn’t it?

He sits down on his foam mattress and tries to tell himself it’s good and that the hollow feeling in his chest is just on account of him being tired and his feet being sore.

He’s happy.

He’s _happy_.

It’s just… everything is so new. He looks around the room and suddenly feels like it’s suffocating him. New walls, new view, new smells of city pollution, different pigeons cooing outside. His boss was a stranger two days ago. His flatmate was a stranger two weeks ago.

The homesickness crashes into him with so much force he isn’t sure why it took him so long to figure out that’s what it was. He wants to shrug off the new and slip into a version of himself that feels more comfortable and less of a risk.

He picks up his phone. He doesn’t even really think about what he’s doing until he’s typing a text in.

_I moved to London._

Immediately, embarrassment settles into position beside the homesick despair.

It doesn’t take Ben long to reply. _I heard! Ian mentioned it._

Ian. That little rat.

_Sorry I didn’t tell you myself._

_Dw about it life is a mess to try and get sorted sometimes_

Phil feels sudden stabs of guilt that he doesn’t have any sort of idea what kind of a mess Ben’s life might actually be.

 _Yeah,_ he types. _How have you been?_

It’s painfully awkward. He wonders if Ben feels the same way.

_Not bad! My mum’s asked about you. Said she misses having you round._

He does smile at that. _Tell her I miss her Sunday roast dinner!_

 _Tell Kath I don’t miss hers,_ Ben responds, and Phil actually laughs. His mum is fairly notorious for either burning or undercooking at least one thing in a Sunday roast. Sometimes she hits a double whammy and does both. _How about you? How’s London treating you?_

He stares at the question. If he wanted to properly talk, Ben would listen. He’s always been there when Phil just needed someone to listen, and Phil thinks he always did a good job of being there for Ben in return.

But as the years passed, they just… turned to each other less often.

He hadn’t even rung Ben much leading up to his father’s death. He’d told him about it, of course - Ben had been checking in. But they were brief exchanges.

If he said it all to Ben now, ripped open his chest and spilled his heart out, what would Ben do? Spend hours listening to Phil whinge on about the consequences of choices he made himself, ones he’s more afraid of than upset by? Would Ben get on a train and come to London?

There’s some appeal in that, the idea that by the weekend he could have a nice strong pair of arms to cuddle up in. And Ben… he does have nice arms. He’s got a nice everything, with all that rugby playing he does.

He wouldn’t feel alone. But that’s really it, isn’t it? If he rang Ben up it would be more because he didn’t want to be alone than because he wanted _Ben_ with him.

Ben hasn’t texted back. Phil doesn’t know, but he strongly suspects if he just never responded Ben wouldn’t make anything of it. He’d just let Phil off the hook and in another week or two he’d text Phil a picture of a dog being daft and Phil would respond with an emoji and they’d continue on like that. Tonight would be nothing but a mildly guilty footnote in Phil’s mind, fading after a few months.

He doesn’t really want that, either - to just leave Ben hanging. So he types back _It’s alright, I suppose. Flatmate is decent and I have a job._

 _Great to hear it!!!_ Ben sends.

Phil closes his eyes and tries to breathe through the heaviness he’s feeling. He sends an emoji and then puts his phone on silent and slides it under his pillow.

He isn’t as up for the conversation as he thought, so he decides he might as well just try and get some sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

*

*

“Excuse me.”

Phil doesn’t look up to see what kind of person is attached to the voice that just spoke next to him. He’s too busy fiddling with his key, trying to get it to open the postbox he knows is his. It says 12B right on it, and this is the key Dan gave him, there’s no reason it shouldn’t work; no reason beyond Phil being inept at all things requiring even a modicum of hand eye coordination, anyway. Besides, it’s a woman’s voice, and the only woman in London with any reason to speak to him is probably still in bed right now with her bisexual French boyfriend. 

Then there’s a tap on his shoulder. 

He’s not proud of the way his body reacts, stiffening instantly, pulling away from what it automatically assumes is an attacker. 

Of course the truth is probably that it’s his neighbour, a young-ish looking blonde woman with a polite smile on her face. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to startle you.”

He smiles back, shaking his head, feeling like a right awkward idiot. Which is fitting. “I’m jumpy before my coffee.”

“Most people are jumpy _after_ they’ve had coffee.”

He’s not sure what to say, because he’s never really been all that keen on casual conversation with strangers and he definitely isn’t in the mood for it now. He does desperately need a coffee and he’s still in pyjamas. He fakes a laugh. “Yeah, reckon I’m a weirdo,” and hopes she’ll pick up on his desire to be left alone.

She doesn’t, because chatty people never do. “Are you new to the building?” she asks. “I’ve not seen you before.”

He turns his attention back to the key he’s only managed to get half pushed into the lock. “Yeah,” he says. “Hence why I can’t figure out how to get this frickin thing open.”

She laughs, and plucks the key right from his hands. “You have to really jam it.” She shoves it in and turns it open. 

“Oh. Thanks.” He half expects her to reach into the box and take his post out for him, but she just hands the key back and smiles. 

Then her eyes flick away from him and she frowns a little. “You live in 12B?”

“Um…”

“With the cute bloke with curly hair? Or did he move out?”

Phil just stands there, trying to think of a polite way to tell her to mind her own business, when she speaks again.

“Sorry, I must seem so nosy. I’m just surprised.”

Against his better judgement, Phil asks, “Surprised? Why?”

She shrugs, taking a step away from him like maybe she’s finally figured out she’s invading his space, both physically and otherwise. “There seems to be a lot of turnaround in that particular flat. That guy really goes through flatmates.”

Phil bristles, and he’s honestly not sure if he’s feeling defensive on Dan’s behalf or suddenly wary that he’s moved in with a psycho person. 

She smiles again, waving her hand. “Sorry, sorry. Don’t answer that. Pretend I didn’t say anything, yeah? I’m not a stalker, I swear. Just curious. I’m Liz, by the way.”

Phil instantly takes pity on her. This whole thing is so unbearably uncomfortable, he can’t fathom making it worse by being anything other than polite. “I’m Phil.”

“My flat’s on the same floor, by the way, that’s why I’ve noticed how many people have moved in and out of 12B over the last couple years.”

“Makes sense,” he says, turning his attention to retrieving the post that’s nearly overflowing from the box. It must have been a while since Dan checked it. He closes the box and locks it up, then opens his mouth to say goodbye, when she interrupts.

“This is so weird, but… do you know if he’s single?”

He can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. It’s more than a blush. It’s probably full on tomato face, and now he reckons he’d be well within his rights to tell her to piss off, but he still can’t. He’s just not wired that way. “Um, no. I don’t. Sorry.”

“Ah well.” She pulls the post out of her own box and flips her hair over her shoulder like she hasn’t just caused another human being’s insides to melt with embarrassment. “Worth a shot, eh?”

Phil laughs. Or tries to. Mostly he just makes a weird noise and takes a step backwards and says, “Well, it was nice to meet you. I’ve got a bucket of coffee waiting with my name on.”

She gives him a cheerful enough smile and he’s relieved to be able to turn and walk away. He takes the stairs because the lift does indeed have caution tape across it now. 

Dan hadn’t been up when had Phil walked downstairs, but he is now. His hair is a riot of fluffy curls and he’s wearing pajamas, standing in front of the kettle staring at it like he’s willing it to boil. 

“I got the post,” Phil says, probably unnecessarily given that he is still holding his collection of envelopes and adverts and one package. “I think you got something. Or… a few things.” 

Dan scrunches his face up. “Probably don’t want them. Anyone who really needed to contact me would do what civilized people do and send an email… that I’d also probably ignore.” 

Phil gives the package a little shake. “This’ll probably be something good, no?”

“Ooh.” Dan’s face lights up like he hadn’t actually noticed the package until now. He reaches for it with grabby hands. “Gimme gimme.”

Phil chuckles and hands it over, watching as Dan gets right to work tearing it open. 

“I literally ordered this two days ago with express shipping and already forgot about it,” Dan says. He pulls something out that Phil has to squint at. It can’t be what he thinks it is, because he thinks it’s a VHS.

But no, that’s actually exactly what it is. “Do you collect ‘90s memorabilia?” Phil asks.

“No. Well… I mean, I guess. I have a fairly sizable VHS collection.” The kettle starts boiling then, and Dan goes to deal with it immediately.

“Why?” Phil asks, leaning against the counter and watching as Dan pours steaming water into two mugs already prepped with instant coffee. He hadn’t even asked if Phil wanted one. Something about that makes Phil feel warm.

“Because I like watching them, dingus,” Dan says. “Get the milk, please.”

Phil goes to the fridge and gets both types: the kind from a cow and the kind from a nut. “You have a VCR?” he asks. “Like, a functional one?”

Dan nods.

“You’re not like those people that say records are better than CDs, are you?” He narrows his eyes.

Dan rolls his. “I’m definitely not saying VHS is better than DVD or Blu Ray. I’m not a psychopath.” He stirs his coffee and then hands Phil the spoon so he can stir his. “Records are better than CDs, though. Just for the record.”

“Ooh, I see what you did there, Pun Master Daniel.” 

“Is it a pun if I just used the same word twice?” 

“Yeah,” Phil says, in a duh type of voice. 

“Fine, if you say so.” Dan shrugs. 

“So?” Phil asks, trying to look at the tape. All he can tell from the angle Dan’s holding it at is that the cover is blue with some pink. 

“So?” Dan pushes Phil’s coffee toward him. 

“What film is it?” 

“Oh.” Dan holds it up for Phil to get a proper look. “But I’m A Cheerleader.” 

“Oh my god!” Phil lights up. “I love that movie!” 

“You’ve seen it?” Dan is clearly surprised. 

“Yeah, it’s hilarious. I’ve seen it loads of times, actually. My mate Anja used to make me watch it with her all the time.” 

There’s something in Dan’s expression, something more than surprise, but Phil can’t parse it. 

When Dan speaks again, his words are slow and measured. “Well, I have to watch it later. One of the publications I moonlight for is doing a throwback issue. It won’t pay much but I couldn’t pass up an excuse to add to my collection.” He taps on the cover of the tape with his index finger. “You can watch with me, if you fancy.”

“Oh,” Phil says thickly. “Really?”

Dan shrugs. “Why not?”

“I mean, won’t that interrupt you?” Phil asks. “Like, your note taking, and all?” 

“Nah,” Dan says. “I’m a seasoned professional.”

The idea is appealing. And yet he immediately feels the need to give Dan an out.

“Are you sure?” he asks. “I’m… a bit of a talker. When it comes to watching stuff, anyway. I’ve been told it’s annoying.”

“Mate.” Dan takes the spoon back and drops it in the sink. “Just watch the film with me or don’t, I’m not bothered either way.”

“Now?”

Dan shakes his head. “I’ve got—” He seems to catch himself about to say something he doesn’t actually want to share. “An appointment.”

“Right,” Phil says. “Later then.”

“Are you not working today?” Dan asks. 

Phil takes a sip of his coffee and shakes his head. “I can’t be trusted to run the shop alone yet, and Stevie’s got some sort of exhibit she’s at for the day.” 

“Are you the only employee?” 

“I think so,” Phil says. “I mean, I’m fairly sure. She hasn’t mentioned anyone else. She’s got lots of mates though, I think they help out when she needs it. She’s super laid back.” 

“Weird.” 

“Yeah,” Phil says. “Can’t relate.” 

“To which part?”

“Being laid back,” Phil says. “I’ve got mates. Enough, anyway. What about you?”

Dan yawns, covering his mouth with the back of his hand but making no effort to muffle the noise. “Bit of a loner, actually. I’m sure you’ve noticed that by now.”

“But you’re laid back,” Phil says.

“Eh. I’m not, really, but I can fake it when I need to.” Dan smiles, but it’s wry. 

“I can’t. I can never fake anything.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” Dan says. “I had to learn the hard way.”

Phil’s got no idea how to respond to that, but Dan doesn’t actually wait for one. He turns away from Phil to fetch his cereal out of the cupboard, then says, “I’m gonna watch an episode of Food Wars before I head out. Interested?”

-

It’s evening by the time Dan has returned and they find themselves in the lounge, ready to feast their eyeballs on what the back of the box describes as a ‘candy-box colored comedy of sexual discovery.’ Phil is sat on the sofa with his legs crossed underneath himself and a bowl of popcorn in his lap, watching as Dan squats in front of the entertainment center to slide open a shelf Phil didn’t even realize was there and reveal an ancient blinking black VCR. 

When he feeds the tape into the machine, the satisfying sound of the wheels inside spinning takes Phil right back to childhood. “I haven’t even seen a VCR since 2001, probably,” Phil says. 

“Really? 2001?” Dan’s knee cracks as he pushes back up to his feet. “We definitely had one at least until 2005. You must have been a rich kid, getting all the new tech first.” 

“I dunno,” Phil says, a tad defensive. “Didn’t really think about it. It’s not like the money was mine. I never felt rich, but my parents were comfortable.” 

“Mine were too, sometimes. And other times not so much.” Dan sinks into the cushion on the other end of the sofa and hits play on an equally ancient looking remote control. “Anyway.” There’s a hard edge to his voice now, so Phil takes the hint and turns his attention to the film without saying any more.

He gets lost in a world of pink and teal and nostalgia as it starts to play. 

-

Somehow he’d forgotten how unrelentingly sexual this film is.

He’s trying hard not to squirm. It’s not that he’s bothered about the sex, per se, it’s just that it’s all so… _gay_.

The film is super gay, and so is Phil. But he hasn’t told Dan that. Which means that the running commentary he’d normally have going feels kind of impossible without revealing certain truths that he feels strangely unprepared to reveal. 

He can’t talk about the fact that he and Anja came out to each other after watching it together after school every day for two weeks. He can’t recount how they’d turn the volume down way lower than they would on any other film, filled with terror at the prospect of Phil’s parents hearing what it was they were watching. 

The whole thing is making him _feel_ a lot more than he was expecting. It’s nostalgia cranked up to a hundred. He remembers being a teenager and watching this film and others like it clandestinely, searching out any glimmer of not-straight representation he could find and then watching and rewatching until he threatened to wear out the tape. 

Luckily Dan hasn’t seemed to notice Phil’s discomfort. He’s got a small notebook open on his thigh into which he scribbles a few sentences every few minutes. And scribble is definitely the operative word; Phil tried to read what he was writing and couldn’t decipher a single word. 

When the sex scene between the two main characters starts, Phil can barely stand it. The music is so familiar to him that his response is Pavlovian. It’s not even remotely explicit, but his heart is racing and his stomach is twisted up in knots and Dan is just sat there right next to him, casual as ever. Phil looks at him in his periphery and he’s lounging back against the sofa and of course Phil’s brain chooses this moment to remind him that Dan is actually extremely attractive, all long legs and curly hair and doing this kind of adorable thing where he’s chewing on the end of his pencil. 

Phil starts to think - to remember what Liz from down the hall said earlier during their post box interlude, about her fancying Dan. He hadn’t really thought about what would happen if his flatmate actually had someone over _like that_. His soul cringes at the idea of awkward morning after encounters or even worse, the potential of hearing things he doesn’t need to hear. Like straight sex. Or any sex he’s not taking part in himself. 

“I met one of our neighbours earlier,” he blurts out. 

“Yeah?” Dan asks, not turning away from the screen. “Oh, when you got the post? Was it Agatha? Because she’s a bit batty but she makes the best chocolate biscuits.” 

“Do vegan biscuits even taste like anything?” Phil asks. “They haven’t got any of the good bits in them.” 

“First of all, sugar is vegan and chocolate can be too.” 

“I’ve had vegan chocolate,” Phil argues. “It tastes like ass. It’s bitter!” 

“Not if you combine it _with the sugar_ ,” Dan says. “And no, hers aren’t vegan, but you tell an eighty four year old woman you’re not going to eat her biscuits, just try it.” 

“I wouldn’t tell any woman I wouldn’t eat her biscuits,” Phil says. 

Dan stares at him. “Is that a euphemism?” 

“No! I just love biscuits!” Phil laughs. 

“Good because if you were going to tell me you’d like, eat the Queen’s—” 

“ _Actual biscuits_!” Phil all but shrieks. 

They’re both laughing now, proper hard laughter. Phil actually can’t remember the last time he couldn’t catch his breath for laughing at something. 

“You know,” Phil says, once he’s regained control of himself. “She also said you cycle through flatmates a lot.” 

“Yeah.” Dan shrugs. 

“Is there a reason?” 

“I’m secretly a vampire that only lures innocent young men in so I can feed on them,” Dan says in a dry voice, then acts like he’s licking his canines. 

“Good thing I’m not young then, I suppose,” Phil says. “Or innocent.”

“Noted.” It might sound like flirtation, except Dan’s voice has absolutely no inflection to it. “Normal reasons, though. There are mice. One guy found a crack going up his ceiling and was convinced the flat was gonna fall down on him. Oh, and I think there’s a gas leak in the building. They keep saying they fixed it, but I swear I still smell something.”

“I’ll tell you if I do,” Phil says. “I have a sensitive snoz, according to my mum.” 

“Snoz.” Dan sounds like he’s scoffing at Phil’s word choice, but not in a mean way.

“I’ve never actually had a flatmate before,” Phil says, a confession he definitely didn’t consciously decide to make. “Except in uni, but that felt different because it was loads of us in one house, not just one other person.” 

“Wow,” Dan says. “Lucky.”

Phil shrugs. “My job paid well enough. My flat in Manchester was as small as a matchbox, but it was fine just for me.” 

“Whatever works. Which neighbour did you meet, if it wasn’t Agatha?” 

“Um… crap,” Phil says, because of course he’s forgotten her name already. “Blonde. Super chatty. She said she lived down the hall.” 

“Don’t know her.” 

“Really?” Phil’s surprised. “She seemed like she might fancy you a bit.” 

“Yeah? Huh.” He sounds like he couldn’t possibly care less.

“She asked me if you were single.”

Dan’s eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously?”

Phil nods. He’s not sure why he’s pressing so hard, but he says, “Yeah, so I reckon if you ever get tired of being a loner…”

Dan’s eyes flick up and down Phil’s body so quickly that Phil could easily be convinced it was only in his imagination. 

“Not my type,” Dan says. 

Phil frowns. “What, blonde?”

Dan reaches over and snags a handful of popcorn out of Phil’s bowl. “Yeah,” he says. “Sure.”

Well, at least it seems like Phil can avoid the discomfort of Dan having that particular woman stay overnight. He wants to ask what is his type, but unlike neighbour lady whose name he’s forgotten, he understands and respects social boundaries.

It’s dark out by the time the credits start to roll. Before either of them can stand up to eject the tape, Phil says, “Is it weird that I always watch the credits right through to the end?”

“Do you really?” Dan asks.

“Yeah. It’s weird, I know, but it feels disrespectful to all the people who worked hard to make the film not to.” 

“It’s not weird,” Dan says. “I actually completely agree.”

Phil looks at him. “Really?”

He nods. “I’m nearly always the last person in my seat at the cinema. The employees usually don’t even wait to start cleaning up half empty popcorn buckets and shit, but yeah. I always wait.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Phil says. “You’re a film guy. For me I just think about, like, the craft services person or the assistant to the costume designer or whatever, like the ones who probably never get any recognition. Their names get stuck at the end of the credits and no one ever watches them and it just makes me sad for them. So I always watch.” He notices the way Dan is just staring at him and feels heat flood his cheeks. “It’s silly.”

“It’s really not.” He flips his little notebook closed and slides it into his pocket. “Seems like I’m not the only one who’s a film guy.”

Phil shrugs. “When I was younger I always assumed I’d end up working in film somehow. I used to make horror films with my mates when I was a kid. And I studied visual effects at York.”

“So what happened?” Dan asks.

Phil looks down at his hands. Suddenly the air around him feels heavy, weighing him down with the reminder that he’s farther than he ever could have imagined from the person he thought he’d be by now. “Life, I guess.”

Dan is quiet for a long moment. “Yeah. Sounds about right.”

They watch the rest of the credits in silence. When the tape stops and starts its automatic rewind, Dan slaps his hands on his thighs and says, “Well.”

Phil knows he’s brought the mood down in one fell swoop, but he can’t seem to shake the sudden sadness that has befallen him. He needs to go to his room before he does something embarrassing like cry. He thinks he and Dan have established a comfortable flatmate rapport, but it’s not like they’re _friends_. It would definitely be weird if he started to cry. 

Again, Dan is the one to break the silence. “I’m gonna try to write this review tonight, while it’s still fresh in my mind.”

Phil forces himself to smile and nod. “I’m going to bed. Been a long hard day of doing nothing.” He grabs the empty popcorn bowl and stands up. “Thanks for letting me watch with you.”

“Sure.”

He tries to think of something else to say, but he can’t, so he goes to the kitchen to dump the bowl in the sink and have a glass of water. He should probably try to eat something real, but his throat is tight. It’s all he can do just to get the water down.

He’d have thought it wouldn’t hurt like this anymore. It’s been long enough. He’d had time to prepare before it happened, and he’s had time to come to terms since. Everyone else seems to be managing the healing process just fine. Martyn is off backpacking in Spain or something, and his mum’s getting ready to go to America. 

But Phil is just… here. Useless and alone, barely holding the pieces of himself together, triggered to despair by the most benign things. 

Then Dan’s voice is beside him, making him jump. “Alright?”

Phil puts the glass on the counter and hopes Dan won’t notice the shake in his hands. “Mhm.” He tries to smile. It’s flat lipped and probably just further highlights how not alright he is, but it’s the most he can muster. “Just tired.”

Dan’s face says he isn’t buying it, but he doesn’t push. “Alright. Goodnight, then?”

“Yeah. Happy writing. Send me your article when it gets published.”

“Yeah?” He sounds surprised, maybe even pleasantly so.

“Definitely.” Phil manages a more genuine smile then, and gives a little wave. “Night.”

It’s a relief to shut his bedroom door behind him, to turn off the light and strip down to his pants and crawl into bed. He can fall apart now and no one will be the wiser. 

First he checks his phone. There’s a missed call from his mum that he doesn’t even think about returning. There’s also a text from Ben, a few Facebook notifications from Ian, and even an email from Cornelia. 

He’s struck by a strange feeling then; a peculiar kind of loneliness that is only exacerbated by all the people in his life who care about him but don’t really understand him, at least not the him that he is right now. It makes him feel ungrateful. It makes him feel hopeless.

He decides to ring the person who has the most cause to convince him that he’ll be able to move on someday. He dials Martyn’s number and holds the phone to his ear, half hoping he won’t answer.

He does though, after the third ring. “Little brother.”

“Hey.” That’s all he says, because he doesn’t trust himself to say more than that. His throat is so tight by now that it’s actually painful.

“What’s up?” Martyn asks. “You sound weird.”

Phil can’t answer. His eyes are welling up, and to open his mouth would be giving all the pent up ugliness permission to spill out.

Martyn can tell. “Phil, what’s wrong, mate?” 

“Nothing, it’s just—” There’s nothing for it. He has no choice but to let it out. “Fuck.” A quiet sob wracks his chest and he squeezes his eyes shut. Tears roll down his cheeks, and he rolls over to press his face into the pillow. “I miss him, Mar.”

Martyn’s voice goes soft. “I know. I do too.”

“I can’t do this.”

“You can.”

Phil feels like a child. He’s five years old again, sneaking into his big brother’s room after having a nightmare. He cries into his pillow and tries not to make it sound as dramatic as it feels. When his lungs start to burn, he holds the phone up in the air so Martyn can’t hear how ragged and broken he sounds as he gasps on the inhale.

“Why does it still feel like this?” he whimpers, using his duvet to wipe his face. It’s completely pointless as the tears are still falling, but he does it anyway. “I feel like I can’t breathe.”

“It’s not forever,” Martyn says. “It’s gonna get better.”

“Don’t you miss him?”

“Of course I do. I miss him every day.” His voice is quiet, but fierce in a way Phil rarely hears it. 

“Sorry.” Phil forces a deep breath in. “I know.” He keeps breathing, looking out his window at the clouds lit up by city lights that never go out. Martyn doesn’t say anything, and Phil finds comfort in that. He can hear Martyn breathing, and behind that, soft music. He imagines that it’s Cornelia, maybe sitting on a hotel bed with her laptop out. 

When Phil’s breathing is finally even, Martyn asks, “D'you wanna talk?”

Phil sighs. “I don’t know.”

“Tell me about London.”

“I got a job,” Phil says. “Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“No, I mean. It’s a job. Just not one I reckon anyone’s going to approve of.”

“What is it?” 

“Just a glorified cashier, really. At an art shop studio thing.” 

“Art?” Martyn asks. Not critical necessarily, but definitely perplexed.

“Yeah.” Phil braces for Martyn to tell him he can - and should - do better.

But he doesn’t. He just asks, “Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” Phil says, voice gone soft just thinking of Stevie and the smell of paint and the magical chaos of the shop. “A lot, actually.”

“That’s really all that matters,” Martyn says. “You know that, right?”

Phil makes a disbelieving sort of grunt.

“It is.” He sounds so sure. “That’s what I’ve taken away from all this.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Just... Life is short.” He clears his throat, and Phil feels a twinge of guilt. “That’s why mum’s selling the company. That’s why Corn and I are finally doing the things we’ve always talked about wanting to do.”

“Right.”

“You’re doing it, too. Even if it doesn’t feel like you are.”

Phil digs the heel of his palm into his eye. “I don’t even know _what_ I want.”

“You took a job because you like it,” Martyn points out. “Not because it pays well or sounds good to boast about. That counts.”

“I guess.”

“It hasn’t been that long, Phil,” Martyn says. “This isn’t the kind of thing you can put on a bloody calendar.”

“I know,” Phil all but whispers. “I know that.”

He wishes he could. If he could see the finish line to all this grief, he thinks it might be bearable.

“You’re gonna be alright,” Martyn tells him. “We both are.”

Phil laughs wetly. “Promise?”

“Promise. And until then, you’ve got my number..”

“Stop being so nice. Feels weird.”

“Alright, then. Buck up, div. Yeah?”

Phil laughs again, wiping his nose on his arm. “Yeah.”


	8. Chapter 8

*

*

Phil’s phone is ringing where he’d laid it on the counter earlier, vibrating angrily against the granite. He eyes it warily from his spot beside the stove, but reaches out to scoop it up and answer the call just before it rolls over to voicemail. 

He already knows without looking that it’ll be his mother. She’s been ringing for days and he’s been ignoring her, but he can’t keep it up much longer without crossing the line between wanting space and punishing her.

“Hi mum.”

“He lives.” She’s definitely unimpressed. “Don’t say you’ve been busy.” 

“Okay.”

“What’s that sound?”

“Um… food? I’m cooking.”

“Are you?” her voice has pitched up hopefully. 

“Yeah. Gonna go skint if I keep ordering takeaway every night.”

She clicks her tongue reproachfully.

“I know,” Phil says, rolling his eyes. “It’s just so much easier.”

“I always cooked for you boys. Ordering in was only for very special occasions.”

He rolls his eyes again. “I know, mum. Trust me, I couldn’t forget that if I tried.” He has all together too many memories of burnt roasts and boiled vegetables. “Why do you think I refused to eat anything but chicken nuggets, chips and peas for all those years?”

“Oh shut up,” she huffs.

He pushes scrambled eggs around with a spatula. They look amazing, onions and peppers all in them, a couple of plump sausages sizzling on the other burner.

He’s glad Dan’s out, and hopes he doesn’t come back in for a while - at least long enough for Phil to finish this. He hasn’t cooked meat with Dan in the house - not that Dan’s actually asked him not to, it just somehow feels more rude than ordering a takeaway with meat in it and eating that in front of him. 

Right now the smell is just making his mouth water. 

“You just don’t know taste,” she says, still gently ribbing at him. 

“I know how _to_ taste, and that’s your problem,” he says. “But you make up for it with the baking.” 

“Oh, that I do,” she agrees. “Just made an orange drizzle cake yesterday.” 

“I hope you’re posting me some.”

“Actually, it’s for the neighbours. A gift for agreeing to collect the post and keep an eye on the house while I’m in Florida.”

Phil’s stomach sinks. “Oh.” He wants to hang up. He turns the burners off and leans back against the counter, facing away from the food. The smell that had been tempting him suddenly makes him feel ill. 

“I’m only lucky I’ve no pets or houseplants or I reckon I’d have needed to actually pay them. As it is, I think baked goods will suffice.”

Phil ignores her attempt to smooth things over with humour. “When are you leaving, then?”

“In a few days. I, um…” She pauses, and Phil’s whole body tenses. “I’ve just got some things to get sorted first. Paperwork and that.”

“What paperwork?”

“That’s why I’ve been ringing,” she says cautiously. “I wanted to let you know I’ve officially sold the company.”

He feels like the breath is punched out of him. “Oh,” he finally manages. 

“It’s - Gavin Anwer, you remember him, don’t you? Used to have tea with your father every few weeks. He’s a good man, he’ll… He’ll do well by it. Your father would have approved.” 

His father would have wanted to still be alive running his own company. 

“Okay,” Phil says. He knows it’s flat. He can’t help it. Or doesn’t care enough to. 

Kathryn sighs. “Phil.” 

“What do you expect me to say?” 

“I expect you to understand that this is something I have to do,” she says. “And that I’m doing it as much for you and your brother as I am for myself.” 

“You didn’t even ask us what we wanted,” Phil says. 

“Darling boy.” She sighs and he can just picture the expression on her face. He wishes he couldn’t, but he can. “I’m your mum, I know what’s best for you.” 

“That’s bullshit.” 

“Philip!” She chastises him gently. 

“No,” he says. “Don’t tell me about my tone. I’m a grown man and you’re treating me like I can’t make a decision for myself. I haven’t had a say in - in _anything_ , I haven’t—” 

All the feelings that were shocked away suddenly start to tumble back and threaten to drown him. “I have to go,” he manages to croak out before he hangs up the phone and allows himself to give in to the cloying pain in his chest. 

He leans forward, pressing his forehead against the cool cupboard door and squeezing his eyes shut. He can’t keep ending his days like this. He just can’t. 

Maybe this was a mistake, this flat, this city, this whole daft idea he’d had that he could remake himself. That he could start over. Life doesn’t work like that. His definitely doesn’t, anyway. 

He shouldn’t be here. He should be in Manchester. He should be working nine to five at the job he’d be welcomed back to, a job that pays well and doesn’t ask more of him than he has to give. He should be living in a flat with the man he’d spent nearly half his life dancing around commitment with. He should visit his father’s grave and confront the fact that he’s dead and gone and never coming back.

This is how Dan finds him. Phil’s not sure how long it’s been since he ended the call with his mother, he just knows he’s still stood in the same place, head leaned against the cupboard door, hand pressed over his mouth to stifle the sound of his crying. He hears the front door close, hears Dan kicking off his shoes. He needs to get himself in order quickly if he has any hope of hiding his breakdown from his flatmate.

Turns out, he actually has no hope at all, because Dan is already walking toward the kitchen and asking, “You’re cooking?”

Phil can only imagine how red and splotchy his face is. He tries to wipe it off on his jumper and stand up straight at least, but there’s still a sob trapped in his chest, and unfortunately it escapes before he can swallow it down. 

“Oi, alright there?” Dan says.

Phil turns around, because the only thing worse than showing his face right now would be to continue Blair Witching like a maniac right next to the stove. His eyes meet Dan’s and he watches about ten different emotions flit across Dan’s face in the span of a couple seconds: surprise, confusion, trepidation and eventually, compassion. 

And then Dan turns away. Not in a way that ignores the pain written on Phil’s face, but a way that acknowledges Phil’s desperate need for just a few seconds to recover, to take back control of himself, to dictate how he wants this encounter to go down. Dan offers Phil that kindness and goes to the fridge to take out a bottle of water.

It’s then that Phil notices Dan is sweating. A lot. His hair is wet at the temples under a black baseball cap, his cheeks flushed deep pink. He downs half the bottle in one long swig while Phil wipes his own face on his sweater again and takes a couple deep breaths.

“Smells amazing,” Dan says. His eyes are searching but his words are innocuous. 

“It’s - oh, shit,” Phil says, turning like he can somehow hide the food. “Sorry. It’s - sausages.” 

Dan shrugs. “Mate, it’s alright. You can eat sausages whenever you like. The most it’s gonna do is inspire me to make some of my vegan ones.” 

“Vegan sausages?” Phil asks. “That sounds…” 

He stops before he says gross, not wanting to insult Dan. Especially not right now when Dan’s giving him an obvious out if Phil wants it. 

Does he want it? 

Maybe it would be even more awkward to try and pretend like he’s just fine. 

“They do the trick,” Dan says. Then he gently adds, “You alright?” 

“Bad conversation with my mum,” Phil says. 

“Ah.” Dan tips the bottle up again. Phil’s eyes get stuck watching the ripple of his throat swallow, almost absent-mindedly. “Mums. They can be like that sometimes.” 

“Why are you so sweaty?” Phil asks. Maybe he doesn’t want to pretend he’s perfectly alright, but he’s also sure he doesn’t want to go into why. 

“Oh, um.” Dan stumbles a bit and Phil wonders if he shouldn’t have asked. “Went for a run.” 

“You run?” Phil’s surprised. 

“Sometimes,” Dan says. “What do you have against running?”

“Nothing!” Phil quickly explains. “I’ve just never done it much. My legs don’t really like going where my brain tells them to. I don’t have hand-eye coordination _or_ leg-brain coordination. It’s a bad combination.” 

Dan grins. “I remember that from the day you moved in.” 

“Hey!” Phil says, actually laughing a bit. “That one doesn’t count, you startled me.” 

“Fine, whatever,” Dan says, smiling back. “Anyway, I run more for my mental health than because I just love it. If I didn’t actually know how much it helps me I’d probably never put trainers on again.” 

“Maybe I should try it.” Phil sounds more bitter than he’d intended. 

Dan cocks an eyebrow. 

“I’m a mess,” Phil says bluntly. “I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“So, more than a bad conversation, then?”

“It’s…” He tries to think of a way to put it succinctly. “It’s been a bad few years. I’m not really… coping.”

Dan nods. “Coping is a lot harder than most people give it credit for.” He finishes the water and leaves the bottle on the counter. “Anyway. Sorry. I’ll leave you to it.”

“No,” Phil blurts. 

Dan looks surprised. 

“Um.” Phil looks down at his stupid mismatched socks. “I mean you don’t have to. I’m kind of…” He looks up again, feeling more than a little embarrassed. “Don’t really fancy being alone right now? Can we watch something maybe?”

When Dan doesn’t answer immediately, Phil starts to backpedal. “Sorry, you’re probably busy, it’s fine, I’ll just—”

“Mate.”

Phil snaps his mouth shut.

“You want a distraction,” Dan says. “That’s, like, coping 101.”

“Yeah?”

“Exercise and sleep and therapy is good and all, but when you’re in the middle of the shit, distraction is the best thing.” He takes off his hat and runs his fingers through his hair, fluffing up the damp curls. Phil hates himself for noticing the way the muscle in his forearm moves as he does it. 

“What’s your favourite distraction?” Phil asks.

“Movies,” Dan says. “Video games. Music. Things that fill my head so thoughts can’t get in.” 

Sometimes Dan says things that make Phil remember he writes for a living. 

“That makes sense,” Phil says. 

“I have an addictive personality so I have to be careful with video games. Sometimes I need it, but sometimes it’s an excuse to get lost in a different world. At uni - the first time I was in uni - I spent days playing Final Fantasy and wouldn’t go to class or even eat.” 

“Oh.” Phil frowns. “That’s not good.” 

Dan laughs. “Not good. Films are nice though - they’re finite, and I still feel like I'm being productive.”

“Productive?” Phil asks. 

Dan shrugs. “Yeah, I mean, for me. I just figure every film I watch is like research for a future review I may write.” 

“That makes sense,” Phil says again. “In that case I should be like, I dunno, painting pictures or something? But that just sounds like…” 

“Effort?” Dan asks. 

Phil nods. “And I don’t want to put effort in.” 

He wonders if that sounds exceptionally stupid since he’s saying it to Dan, who just came in from something as effort-driven as _actual exercise_. 

But Phil doesn’t want to move. He doesn’t want to think. He doesn’t even want to exist in his own body right now. 

Dan looks at him and nods slowly. “I get that. Film, then. What do you want to watch?” 

“What?” Phil asks, surprised. “Right now?” 

Dan shrugs. “Got anything better to do?” 

He shakes his head. “No, but… I dunno. I shouldn’t—” 

“You shouldn’t what?” Dan asks. “Mate, you’re clearly going through something, and you need a distraction. I’m offering my distraction services free.” 

Phil feels a pang of something - something genuine and appreciative. The fact that Dan isn’t actually asking him what’s wrong, isn’t seeking any explanations, isn’t trying to make Phil feel or face anything he isn’t ready for… 

Gratitude. He feels gratitude. 

“Okay,” Phil says, releasing the hold on the hesitation gripping him. 

“So.” Dan leans against the door frame. “What’ll it be?” 

“I…” Phil suddenly can’t think of a single movie that’s ever been made. His mind is blank. “I don’t know.” 

Dan motions with his head toward the hallway. “C’mon.”

He leads Phil to his bedroom. Dan goes in, but Phil stands outside the door, hesitating. It’s not lost on him that he might not be invited into this room if Dan knew how attractive Phil finds him.

“Dude, come in,” Dan says, bedsprings squeaking as he sits heavily.

It’s fine, Phil tells himself. Dan’s obviously not a homophobe, and it’s not as if Phil’s going to do something idiotic like flirt with him. He’s just letting Kath and Ian’s hangups get to him. 

He steps into the room awkwardly. The decor is monochrome and minimal, fairy lights strung across his headboard, a keyboard sat atop a desk under the window. So maybe the music Phil falls asleep to every night is music Dan is making himself after all.

Dan points to the bookshelf in the corner of the room. “Make your selection.”

Only a few shelves contain books. The others are crammed with rows and rows of movies, many of them VHS’. The frayed corners of the box covers wash Phil over with a warm feeling of nostalgia. “Wow,” he murmurs. “Impressive.”

“I could pay rent for a month on what I’ve spent on those over the years,” Dan says, clearly not unhappy with Phil’s reaction. He doesn’t sound smug, just - proud. “I had this grand idea of like, hunting them down in charity shops and each one having a story of how I found it but that lasted all of a week. Most of them are from ebay.” 

Phil trails his fingers over the boxes. “I don’t even know what happened to all the ones I owned as a kid. I guess my mum must have tossed them out at some point…” 

It’s weird, he thinks, how things from childhood just seem to disappear. There are a few things still left at home - drawings that probably graced the fridge at one point or another, a handful of toys in boxes in the attic. But most everything - all the things he carried around with him in his pockets, played with, all the things he cultivated his imagination with just got lost with the years. Soft toys and wooden blocks, then action figures and video games, books with more pictures than words and the ones his mum and dad read to him… 

He chokes it back. Those sorts of thoughts aren’t helping him any. 

His finger stops moving along one title. “Jurassic Park,” he says. “This was like - my favourite movie growing up.” 

“Too bad the new ones are shite,” Dan says. 

Phil points at him. “You shut your bloody mouth.” 

“Mate. Really? You can’t tell me those are good movies.”

“I can too,” Phil says with clear defiance. “Because they are.” 

“By whose standards?” Dan snorts. “I’m a _literal film critic_ , remember?”

“Film critics are wrong a lot,” Phil says. “They’re good movies by my standards.” 

“Which are?” 

“Dinosaurs.” There’s no small amount of _duh_ implied in his voice. 

“Dinosaurs?”

“Dinosaurs.” 

“Well.” Dan shrugs. “I guess if that’s your only standard—” 

“It is,” Phil confirms. 

Dan laughs. “Then fine. Yes. They are movies with dinosaurs. Anyway, the original is fucking sublime, so we can agree on that at least.” 

“Agreed.” Phil keeps looking. “Jumanji!” 

“I actually got that one after the remake came out,” Dan admits. “I hadn’t seen the first one.” 

Phil looks up, shocked. “How had you not seen that? It’s a classic!” 

Dan shrugs. He looks down, bashful for just a second in a way that makes him look younger and sweeter than he normally does. 

It’s a nice look on him. 

“My parents just weren’t really into movies, I guess? I don’t really remember going to the cinema except once or twice a year when my grandma would take me, and we didn’t watch much at home - not movies, at least. Loads of telly. I think Arthur practically raised me.” 

“The cartoon rat?” 

“Aardvark,” Dan corrects. “Get it right. Only respect for him in this house.” 

“Aardvark, right,” Phil says. “My apologies to your cartoon animal parent. Ooh, Back to the Future!” 

“Yeah, I actually haven’t watched that one yet,” Dan says. “Sometimes I pay twenty pounds and get a whole box, takes me a while to get through them.”

Phil’s head jerks over and he stares. “What? You haven’t seen Back to the Future?” 

“I told you!” Dan says. “Not a lot of movies growing up.” 

“Alright,” Phil says, plucking Back to the Future off the shelf. “Well, we’re watching this one. How many others here haven’t you watched yet?”

“Like… a bunch,” he admits, seeming reluctant about it. “I guess a lot of the older ones?”

“And you call yourself a film critic?”

“Oi!” Dan exclaims, but he’s smiling, so Phil knows he hasn’t pushed too hard. “I prefer movies that are good, alright? That’s the definition of being a critic.”

“You don’t know they’re not good if you haven’t seen them,” Phil points out. He holds up Back to the Future. “This is a frickin classic, I don’t know how you can call yourself any kind of expert if you haven’t seen this.”

Dan rolls his eyes. “Fine, educate me, then.”

“Yeah, I will. And you’ll bloody thank me for it, too.” Phil tosses the VHS onto Dan’s bed and then turns back to the shelf. “You know this is my new life’s mission, right?”

“What is?” Dan asks. “Roasting me for being bad at my job?”

“I’m sure you’re a great writer,” Phil says, scanning the titles more carefully. “But your baseline of knowledge is incomplete and now that I know that I feel a moral obligation to rectify the situation.”

Dan makes a sort of snort-laugh noise. “Alright.”

Phil’s back stiffens as self awareness suddenly slams into him. Dan is taking pity on him tonight, but that doesn’t mean he actually wants to make movie nights a regular occurrence. Phil turns around to face Dan again. “Um, I mean. If you want.”

Dan shrugs. “I’m not opposed. As long as you know I’m not gonna pretend to like anything I think is shit, even if it’s like, your childhood favourite.”

“I can live with that.” He pulls out his phone and opens the Notes app. “I’m making a list.”

“Shit, you’re actually serious.”

“Deadly.” He turns back to the shelf. “Alright, so… The Matrix?”

“Not really.”

Phil turns around yet again to give Dan an incredulous look.

Dan shrugs. “Technically yes but it was a million years ago, and… you know…”

Phil just stands there waiting for elaboration. He does not, in fact, know.

“A Netflix and chill situation,” Dan says eventually. 

Phil hopes his face betrays no hint of the very momentary flash of mental image those words provide. “So disrespectful,” he tuts, dropping his gaze down to his phone to put The Matrix at the top of the list. He absolutely cannot under any circumstances be picturing his flatmate with his dick out. 

“The real disrespect is the fact that I actually would have preferred to watch the film,” Dan mutters.

Phil frowns. “That sounds awful.”

Dan laughs. “It wasn’t like… like, _bad_ bad. She didn’t force me or anything. I just—” He drops his head. “Wow, fuck. Sorry. You didn’t ask for my sad sexual history. Jesus.”

“I’ll take it off the list,” Phil says quietly. “I’m really sorry.”

Dan scoots to the edge of the foot of his mattress. “Mate, it’s really fine. I was a teenager, it was seriously a lifetime ago. Besides, I reckon that’s a film I might actually enjoy.”

“Are you sure?”

“There’s nothing on that shelf I wouldn’t be down to watch. And, like, I’m always down for Keanu.”

Phil brightens at that. “Yeah? Me too. He’s—” He almost says fit. He’s so close to just letting that slip, it’s frightening. He’s out of practicing censoring himself in that way. “He’s great,” Phil says, hoping he doesn’t sound as shaken as he feels. “Have you seen Speed?”

“No.”

Phil slaps his hand over his chest like he’s been mortally wounded. “Mate. You’re killing me.”

“Put it on the list, drama queen.”

Phil is already typing it into the list on his phone. “Alright, what else?” 

Dan shrugs. “I’m not sure.” 

“Titanic?” 

“Of course,” Dan says. “Young Leo - and Kate. You know. Epic romance there.” 

If there’s something off about Dan’s voice, Phil barely registers it. 

“Gremlins?” 

“Christ, no. I was already afraid of my own shadow as a child. My freaking _grandma_ used to jumpscare me.” 

Phil makes another wounded sound. “Alright - actually, it might be easier to just go through the ones you have seen.” 

Dan stretches across to the head of his bed and snags one of his pillows, then the other one. He tosses them both onto the ground. “Alright then, have a seat, bub. We’ll go through them one by one.” 

Phil’s about to ask if it’ll really take that long when Dan bends down by the bed and then tucks his fingers into the edge of a cardboard box to pull it out. 

It’s full of movies. 

“I told you,” Dan says. “Sometimes I just buy random lots of them on ebay.” 

“I feel like this is actual Christmas,” Phil admits, plucking one off the top. “I haven’t seen Clueless in ages.” 

“From Speed to Clueless?” Dan asks. “You’re a man of varying tastes, I like it.” 

Phil coughs a bit, surprise making him choke on his own spit. “Yeah, I guess so,” Phil says. “Fargo… Boogie Nights… Point Break - oh, that’s Keanu again.” 

“Good to know,” Dan says, pulling it out of the box and putting it on the shelf, on top of one of the already full rows. “I’ve been wanting to watch The Sixth Sense for a while. And The Big Lebowski.” 

Phil snickers. “My brother got in so much trouble for that one. He thought mum and dad were going to be gone all weekend - this was in the days before we had cell phones, and all. He was maybe fourteen? Old enough to be watching me alone. But my parents had a flat tire about an hour away and had my granddad come pick them up and drop them off back home.” 

“Yeah?” Dan asks. He’s sat on the floor now, so Phil sits too. It’s nice how Dan is just looking at him and… listening. 

“Well, since Martyn thought he had the house to himself he’d invited some friends around. And those friends had brought a few spliffs with them and that movie. Mum walked right into his room and caught them all. I’ve never seen her so angry - to this day I’m not sure if it’s actually because he was doing something wrong or if she just wanted the house not to smell of smoke. My mum hates the smell of smoke.” 

“She sounds like a tyrant.”

“Oh, she’s not. She’s… well.” Phil pauses to think. “I guess she was a bit… overprotective.”

Dan chuckles. “Are you having an epiphany right now?”

“Um… maybe a little. I wasn’t the rebellious type, so. Never had cause to notice, I guess. Martyn got it worse than me because he was actually cool enough to get into trouble.”

“My mum was the complete opposite,” Dan says. “I think sometimes she forgot I even existed.”

Phil frowns. “I hope that’s not true.”

Dan shrugs. “At least I could smoke spliffs with mates if I wanted to.”

“Did you?” Phil asks. “Do you?”

“I did a bit. Not like a habit or anything. Don’t really now. I’m not, like, morally opposed or anything.”

“I never have,” Phil says, surprising himself with the wistfulness in his voice. “The hardest drug I’ve ever done is tequila shots.”

A small smile plays on Dan’s lips. “That does not shock me.”

Phil crosses his arms indignantly. “I could have a past, you don’t know my life.”

Dan smiles more. “You just told me you don’t.”

Phil deflates. “Okay, fine. I’m boring.”

“You don’t have to do drugs to be interesting.”

Phil continues flipping through Dan’s movie box. It shouldn’t matter, but he feels childish now, like Dan will never take him seriously. “Maybe I’ll put it on my bucket list.”

“Your what now?”

Phil pulls The Blair Witch Project out of the box and holds it up. Dan shakes his head, and Phil picks up his phone to add it to the list. “My boss is making me do it,” he says. “I guess oversharing about how lame I am is becoming a trend for me.”

Dan ignores that. “I absolutely cannot watch The Blair Witch Project.”

“Why?”

“I’ll shit. And then die.”

Phil snorts. “You’re not into horror, eh?”

“I’m just not into making my insomnia any worse than it already is.”

“You don’t even see anything in this,” Phil says. “It’s just people lost in the woods.”

“And an evil supernatural force. My two greatest fears. Well, three.”

Phil looks at him questioningly. 

“I don’t like trees,” Dan says. “Or the dark.”

“Or supernatural things?”

Dan nods.

Phil grins. Perhaps he’s not the only one who is childish sometimes. “Interesting.”

“Don’t judge me,” Dan says. 

Phil shakes his head, still smiling widely. “I’m not. But we are watching this. It’s like the godfather of all found footage films.”

“You’ll be the one paying the jacked up utilities after I have to keep the lights on for a week straight,” Dan says. 

“Deal.”

“By the way, are you actually going to put getting high on a bucket list your boss is writing for you?”

Phil tucks the movie back into the box. He’s still smiling. “Yeah, I think I am.”

“Maybe you are a rebel after all.”

“That’s me,” Phil says. “Rebel Lester.” 

“Weirdly, it almost works.” 

“Really?” Phil feels his face light up. 

“No.” 

“Oh, you—” Phil laughs and reaches for something to throw at Dan, but he can’t find anything. 

“So,” Dan says. “What’ll it be?” 

“Hmm?” 

“What movie do you want to watch right now?” 

“Oh you’re - you still want to?” 

Dan shrugs. “You still need a distraction?” 

“Yeah, but…” 

“Then yeah. I mean, they’re all my movies, it’s not as though it’s a hardship. Unless you wanted to watch Blair Witch Project, in which case, fine, but you’re cleaning my literal shit off of the sofa after.” 

“Ew, no,” Phil says. “What about Back to the Future?” 

Dan slaps his thigh and then pushes to his feet, grabbing the box. “You’re making popcorn.” 

-

“Phil.” The credits are rolling, and Dan’s eyes are on the screen still when Phil looks over. “You know this is a bad movie, right?” 

“What?” Phil’s mouth drops open. “It’s a classic!” 

“Classic doesn’t always mean good.” 

“It’s - it’s - the Delorean!” 

“The car was the only non-problematic thing about this film,” Dan says. “It can stay.” 

“What’s there to hate about Back to the Future?” Phil demands to know. 

A look comes over Dan’s face, almost gleeful. “Are you asking? Like, you really want me to answer that?”

“Yes, so I can tell you you’re wrong.”

Dan is definitely gleeful. “Well, for starters, the title is stupid.”

Phil crosses his arms. “Everyone says that. I think it’s fine. It makes sense if you think about it.”

“Yeah but it’s convoluted as fuck.”

“I hope this isn’t your argument,” Phil says. “A mediocre title is hardly a scathing indictment.”

“Oh, trust me. I’m just easing you in.”

Phil rolls his eyes. “Next.”

“There’s never any kind of explanation for why a teenage boy is best friends with a disgraced nuclear physicist who is clearly unhinged. And also, like, very much an adult.”

“It’s a movie,” Phil says. “Who cares?”

Dan just smirks. “It’s fine. It’s just one janky piece of a really shitty puzzle. It’s weird.”

“Next.”

“Marty’s mom wants to fuck him,” Dan says. “How’s that for problematic.”

“She doesn’t know she’s his mom!”

“I guess, but why doesn’t she recognize him later? Like why is she never weird about the fact that her teenage son looks _exactly_ like that guy she was thirsting over back in the day? Are we supposed to believe that she and Marty’s dad both forgot? He was the one who introduced them!”

“I…” Phil crosses his arms. “It’s a movie. Suspension of disbelief.”

Dan chuckles. “Weak defense, mate.”

Phil shrugs. “All films have plot holes here and there, especially ones that involve time travel.”

“Okay. Well how about the fact that the movie took credit for Johnny B. Goode away from Chuck Berry and gave it to a white dude? That’s some pretty fucking intense whitewashing and they did it shamelessly.”

“Okay, that’s… that’s not good,” Phil admits. “I didn’t think of it that way.”

“The whole film was racist, Phil. They also made it seem like the only reason the mayor had the confidence to run for office was because Marty gave him the idea.”

“Shit,” Phil says quietly. 

“Yeah.”

“I mean…” He has no good defence. “Yeah. That’s bad.”

“It’s also misogynistic as fuck. The film was always putting Lorraine in peril to boost the male characters and drive the plot forward. She wasn’t even a real person. And like… Bif was fully about to rape her. Like, that was the filmmakers’ idea of making George attractive to Lorraine? The fact that he saved her from being raped? That’s how they got Marty’s parents together? And then when they grow up they let Bif be their weird butler? As if that never happened?”

Phil exhales heavily. “Fuck.”

“I could go on,” Dan says, but he seems a little less playful about it, like he might be feeling a bit of guilt for eviscerating the film so thoroughly.

“Nah. It’s a bad movie.”

Dan looks surprised. “You’re agreeing with me?”

“I can’t really argue with those points.”

“You could try.”

Phil shakes his head. “You’re right. I honestly feel bad that I didn’t see those things myself.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

Dan shakes his head. “Nothing, it’s just… That’s not usually the reaction I get.”

“To what?” Phil asks. “Being smart?”

A hint of a smile twitches up the corners of Dan’s mouth. “Smart _ass_ is usually how people refer to it.”

Phil shrugs. “You did warn me. And there are enough films in the world. I don’t need to cling to ones that are harmful.”

Dan is still looking at him, amused and surprised. “You’re so odd.” 

“Do you want me to be angry?” Phil asks, tongue poking out between his teeth in a grin. “Because I can be if you’d really like me to be, but I’d rather just talk about the movie instead. I’m alright if you think it’s bad - some films are bad, you know. Some are bad and still good at the same time, and others are bad and just… bad.” 

“So I’m not like, ruining your childhood?” Dan asks. 

Phil laughs softly, one little chuckle on an exhale. “No,” he says, because movies he thought were good notwithstanding the test of time is the least painful thing about thinking of childhood right now. “No, you’re not.” 

Dan relaxes back into the sofa again. “You know what I did like?” 

“What?” Phil asks. 

“Those sweet light up shoes. If they came in black, I’d totally wear them.” 

“I bet we could find them if we looked. The internet is a magical place.”

“Magical,” Dan agrees. “And also horrifying.”

“Do you only wear black?”

“I try very hard to only wear black. Matches my soul, or lack thereof.”

“Your soul isn’t black,” Phil declares.

Dan looks amused by Phil’s assessment. “Oh?”

“You just watched a movie you didn’t like just to distract me from my own stupid problems. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I didn’t know I wasn’t going to like it. And I did still kind of enjoy it, even if it was full of plot holes and social justice faux pas.”

Phil is resolute. “Still.”

“What colour is my soul, then, you reckon?” Dan asks, holding his arms out to either side of himself as if it was something Phil could observe just by looking. 

“Too early to tell.”

Dan smiles, then looks down, nodding slightly. 

He’s cute. Phil can’t help noticing that he’s just very, very cute. He doesn’t want to be noticing that, but it’s kind of unavoidable. 

Then Dan is standing up, groaning as he does, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt starts to ride up a little and Phil forces himself to look away

Dan says, “I need to shower.”

Phil says. “Okay.” He sounds a bit wooden, and Dan notices. He looks at Phil consideringly.

“Unless you need more distraction?”

Phil’s tempted, he really is. But he reckons Dan’s given him more than enough time tonight, and he doesn’t want to push it. He shakes his head. “I’m alright. Thank you. I should probably ring my mum back and apologize. Or eat that food I made earlier.”

Dan crinkles his nose. “Cold eggs.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“What do you have to apologize for?” Dan asks.

Phil bites his lip. “A lot of things, probably.” It’s a very polite kind of mind your own business. He doesn’t exactly mean it that way, but he also definitely doesn’t want to get into it. It would take explaining a lot of things that he doesn’t even want to think about right now.

“You don’t have to, you know,” Dan says, and it’s not the response Phil was expecting. 

“What?”

Dan shrugs. “I’m guessing you didn’t actually do anything that bad. You seemed…” He clears his throat and looks away. “Anyway. It’s not my place to—”

“No,” Phil interrupts. “What.”

“You seemed so sad,” Dan says quietly. “You don’t actually have to apologize for being sad.” There’s a beat of silence between them. “But maybe I have no idea what I’m talking about.”

Phil’s throat is tight again. He’s afraid to say anything, so he doesn’t. 

“Anyway,” Dan says. “Good luck choking down your cold chicken periods. Thanks for letting me tear your favourite film a new asshole.”

Phil watches him walk down the hall and into the bathroom. He gets up and eats his dinner, and it’s exactly as gross as _cold chicken periods_ would imply, but he feels better with something besides dread in his stomach. 

He doesn’t ring his mum. He’s sad, and he doesn’t want to apologize. He climbs into bed and listens to the late night traffic outside his window. He lies in the dark and listens until he’s hearing soft piano instead of cars. And then he sleeps.


	9. Chapter 9

*

*

“Happy work anniversary,” Stevie says, sliding a coffee across the counter at Phil. “You’ve made it two weeks.” 

He looks up from where he’d been reading one of the art books she keeps in a little rack by the counter. It’s not exactly fascinating reading but it does make for something to do during stretches of time when no one’s in. 

“Extra whip?” He leans in to lick it off without even waiting for a response. “And sprinkles!” 

“Of course.” It’s a topic they found common ground with early on. “Live life to the fullest.” 

Her drink is pale green and piled with just as much whipped topping as his. They tip their cups together and Phil takes a drink, making a probably inappropriate noise at the taste. He’s already had one coffee today, but this one is better. 

“Important assignment for you today,” she says. 

He winces. He knows already just by the tone of her voice. “Brush washing?” 

Her laughter rings out throughout the shop. He didn’t know a laugh could have an accent until he met Stevie. “I had a grade seven-eight class yesterday evening, and we did an introduction to oil paints. They’re meant to clean their own brushes, but… you can imagine the job they do.” 

Phil groans. “My hands are going to be all pruny from the soap and water.” 

She makes a tsk noise under her tongue. “Not soap and water for oils, mon chou. You’ll use the thinner like I showed you last week.” 

“Oh,” he says, scrunching his face up. “Right.” 

“You’ll get it,” she says, briefly reaching out to pat his arm. “I’ve put two weeks' work into you already, you have to stay now.” 

“What if it’s an old dog new tricks scenario?” he asks.

“Shut up, Phil, you’re not old.”

“I’m old-ish.”

“I’m older than you, so don’t say you’re old.”

He narrows his eyes at her. “You don’t know how old I am.”

“I’m assuming.”

“You can’t be older than… twenty eight,” he guesses.

She leans down to rest her elbow on the counter, and then her chin atop her fist, looking over at him. “Is that so? I _can’t_ be.”

He takes a sip of his coffee, determined not to let himself be intimated. “I think it’s unlikely that you are older than me.”

“Interesting.” She straightens up and leans back against the counter. “Tell me more about myself.”

“Alright, alright. Point taken.”

She smiles. “I’m thirty five, by the way.”

“Damnit.”

Her smile widens into a grin. A smug one. “Told you.”

“Only by a couple years,” he huffs. “Barely counts.”

“My real point is that you’re not an old dog and I’m gonna teach you lots of new tricks. Cleaning oil paint off my brushes is the least of it.”

“That’s vaguely terrifying.”

“Good!” she exclaims. “It’s good to do things that scare you a little. It’s the only way to grow.”

He wants to roll his eyes, but there’s something about Stevie that makes clichés feel anything but. 

“Ooh, that reminds me—” She crouches down to grab her sketchbook from under the counter. “We need to add to your list today.”

Phil pretends to check a watch he isn’t wearing. “Oh dear, look at that. Innit just about time for your next class?”

“Nice try.” She flips open to the page that contains Phil’s very short bucket list. “We haven’t added anything since ‘get high,’ which is still hilarious to me, by the way.”

“I just can’t think of anything!” Phil says. “It’s harder than it looks!” 

Under her breath, Stevie says, “C'est ce qu'elle a dit.” 

“What?” 

“Maybe learning French should be on your list.” She smirks at him. “Come on, now, if you could do anything right now, what would it be?” 

“Go to space.” 

“And what there?” 

Phil shrugs. “Meet an alien?” 

“And then?” 

“Um…” He wants to say _mate with it_ but he’s not sure if it’s alright to be that weird with Stevie yet. “I don’t know.” 

“Try again,” she says. “If you could do anything right now, what would it be?” 

“Go back in time,” he says. “See my dad.” 

Her smile softens in sympathy. She reaches out and squeezes his hand.. But she doesn’t let him off the hook. “Again. Go back to the space one, yeah? Think of something achievable that might give you the same feeling of excitement.” 

“Visit NASA,” Phil says. “There are two in America - I always wanted to go as a kid. We tried once, to the one in Florida, but that year there were awful storms and it was closed to guests the whole time.” 

She listens attentively. “That’s it, then. You want to visit NASA - that’s on your list. What about other areas of your life?”

He’s sure the look he gives her is steeped in the confusion that he feels. “What other areas?” 

She shrugs. “Sex? Relationships?” 

He scrunches his nose up. “Nah.” 

“Oh, are you ace?” she asks, no deviation from the same casual tone she’s been using. 

“No, I mean - I just, I don’t know. I’ve had boyfriends before. Well, a boyfriend. And I went to university, I had, um. Life experiences. But it’s just not that much of a priority for me right now I guess.” 

“Alright, so I won’t put down ‘have a wild threesome with male models’.” 

“Well, if they’re _male models_ …” He pretends to rethink it. 

She laughs. “We’ll just keep that one in reserve, yeah?” 

“Reserve sounds good,” Phil agrees. He drinks some more coffee, hoping that’ll be the end of it, but she’s still looking at him expectantly. He puts his cup down and crosses his arms over his chest protectively. “I guess I just… I don’t have big dreams.” 

Her face does a pitying thing, and she reaches out to touch him again, squeezing his forearm.

He drops his voice down with the vulnerability of it all, but he’s determined not to get overly emotional. “I feel like right now I’m just trying to get by.”

“They don’t have to be big,” she says, matching his hushed tone. “They can be as small as anything.”

He looks at her blankly. 

“Like my blue hair,” she continues.

“But that’s not small to you.”

She smiles. “That’s my point, mon chou. Something can look small from the outside but be big in your heart.”

He can’t help smirking a little.

“Yes that’s cheesy,” she says. “And yes, I meant it.”

He smiles a little wider. “I like you a bit.”

She pushes him very lightly. “Then give me one more thing to add to this list.”

He sighs, resigned, but not exasperated. 

“Is there anything you always wanted to do but couldn’t for whatever reason?” she prompts. “Like… okay, for example. When I was a little girl, I always wanted pierced ears, but my mum wouldn’t let me. She said I was only going to be a child for so long and I shouldn’t be in such a hurry to grow up. So as soon as I moved out, that’s the first thing I did.”

Suddenly, Phil is flooded with memories of his own mother being similarly stubborn about things that made no sense to him to be stubborn about. “Mixing cereal together,” he blurts. 

She laughs. “What?”

“Whenever I went with her to do the shopping I’d beg her to buy all the most sugary cereals so I could combine them into the ultimate bowl of awesomeness but she always said no.”

Her head is shaking fondly, but her pencil is already scratching the words onto the paper. “I like you a bit too, you know. Imbécile.”

“Hey,” Phil protests. “I don’t know French but I do know when I’m being insulted.”

“Not an insult. An endearment.” She looks up from the page. “What else?”

He takes a moment to think. “Watching A Nightmare on Elm Street.”

Her nose wrinkles delicately. “Horror films! I don’t know why anyone would want to subject themselves to that, but it’s your list.” 

“I love horror,” Phil says. “But my parents wouldn’t let me watch that one. My flatmate might want to watch it with me though. He might already have it. He’s got this massive collection of movies on VHS.” 

“Does he now?” 

“Yeah,” Phil says. “We watched Back to the Future and he ended up pointing out to me how bad of a film it is. 

“That doesn’t sound like it’s very much fun.” 

“No, it was,” Phil says. “I mean, he was right, you know? And he knows a lot more about some stuff than I do.” 

A little smile starts to form on Stevie’s face. “Does he now?” 

Phil’s eyes narrow. “None of that.” 

“I didn’t say a word,” she says. “Besides, we’re not focusing on sex and relationships.” 

“He’s straight anyway,” Phil says. “He mentioned an ex girlfriend.” 

Stevie gives him a pointed look. Phil can tell there’s something to it that he’s not quite getting, but she has to spell it out for him. “Does having an ex-girlfriend mean he _must_ be straight?’ 

“No,” Phil admits. “But the odds are better that he’s straight than anything else.” 

“Is that what you tell yourself so you don’t get your hopes up, or have to take risks?” 

Phil doesn’t like the way hearing her say that makes him feel. He shrugs feebly. “I don’t know.” 

“Alright,” Stevie says, letting him off the hook. “That’s alright to not know. There are many things I don’t know.” 

“Like what?” Phil asks. 

“Why people like to watch manufactured horror films.” 

“Adrenaline is fun!” 

“If I want adrenaline, I’ll jump out of a plane.” 

“Too scary,” Phil says immediately. “No thank you. Manufactured horror movies can’t actually kill me.” 

“No risk, no reward?” 

“No risk, no death?” Phil shoots back. 

Stevie just laughs. “C’est vrai.”

“Have you done that before?” Phil asks. “Jumped out of a plane.” 

“Oh, yes. Quite fun, quite inspiring. Sky diving. I painted that the night after my first jump.” She points across the studio to a painting - it’s pale blues and greens and browns in an abstract geometric pattern, paler toward the top and more green and brown toward the bottom. “I wanted to capture what the world looked like to me as I fell.” 

“It’s beautiful,” Phil says. He’s familiarized himself with all the pieces on the walls, and he remembers that one being called _no net_. “But I still don’t think I’d want to jump out of an aeroplane.”

“That’s alright. It’s not for everyone, I know. I felt very brave that day.”

“Brave,” Phil repeats, his tone tinged with bitterness. “What’s that like?”

She frowns at him. “You know what I’m going to make you do now, don’t you?”

“No.” How has he only known this woman a few weeks? It feels like a lifetime. 

“Tell me about a time you were brave.”

He brings his coffee cup up to his mouth and starts nibbling on the paper rim. “I haven’t been.”

She gives him a look. “Philipe.”

“Honestly.”

“Coming out is brave,” she offers.

He smiles wryly. “I’ve done that a whole lot less than you might assume.”

“You came out to me.”

“Only because I was a stupid _imbécile_ who thought you were flirting with me.”

She laughs. “Mon dieu, your French is awful.”

“I’m bad at most things.”

She fully swats him for that one. “Enough. No more self deprecation in my shop, got it?”

He gives her a salute.

“I’m serious.”

He can tell she is. “Okay. Sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter why you came out to me, you still did it and that’s brave. Théo and I dated almost a year before he came out to me.”

“Wow, really?”

She nods. “Are you not out, generally?”

Phil shrugs. “I am. But mostly people know because they figured it out or I wasn’t careful about hiding it, not because I actually actively came out to them. My mates found out because one of them emailed a screenshot of my profile on a gay dating site to the rest of them.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. My parents figured it out when I moved back in with them after uni and kept bringing my boyfriend round for sleepovers.” He necks the rest of his coffee, trying not to remember how much happier he was at that point in his life. “Even my boyfriend— He didn’t know I was gay until he got emailed that screenshot. And we’d known each other since we were kids. He rang me up after and came out to _me_.”

She doesn’t say anything, and it feels nice, if not a little unnerving the way she listens with her whole body. It reminds him a little of the way Dan had been listening that day in his bedroom. 

“I haven’t even told my flatmate.”

“The one you’re assuming is straight?”

He rolls his eyes. “I only have one.”

“What’s his name?”

“Dan.”

“And you watch movies together?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you talk about personal things?” 

He narrows his eyes. “I dunno. We haven’t hung out that much. He’s kind of…” He trails off, unsure of the right word.

“A dick?” Stevie offers.

Phil shakes his head. “More like… guarded, I guess.”

“But you like him.”

Phil turns away from her to chuck his empty cup in the bin. “He’s… Yeah. He’s not the worst.” He betrays his show of nonchalance with a smile, then looks at her again. “I think I thought of something to add to the list.”

“Do tell.”

“I’d like to come out to Dan.”

If she’s surprised by that, she doesn’t let on. “That seems wise.” 

“So you think I should?” 

“I think if you think you should, then you should.” 

“That’s not really an answer,” Phil says. 

She shrugs. “I don’t have an answer to give there. But if you want it on the list, I’m putting it on the list.” 

“Maybe I changed my mind,” Phil says. “I think I changed my mind.” 

“Non.” She points her pencil at him. “That’s just fear speaking.”

“Fear is useful,” Phil tries to argue. “It’s why people don’t go around putting their heads in a lion’s mouth, or like - sniffing a fire.” 

She has the audacity to laugh. “Do you often have the urge to sniff fire?” 

“Fire smells good,” Phil says. “Anyway, that’s beside the point. What was the point?” 

“That you’re going to come out to Dan.” 

“Right,” he says, less sure again. 

“There’s no deadline,” she reminds him. “You don’t have to do them in order.” 

Phil takes the out she’s giving to him. “Maybe I’ll start with an easier one,” he says. “Like watching Nightmare on Elm Street.” 

Stevie laughs. “Alright, but I don’t want to hear about it afterwards.” 

-

“Are you busy tonight?” Phil asks. 

He’s just in from work. His feet don’t even ache the way they did the first few days, but he’s still glad to be back. He wants to sink into his… foam mattress. 

He really needs to buy a proper bed. The money from his first cheque is sitting in his account, the only real indulgence he’s spent from it being more groceries. 

“Let me check my schedule, oh yes, long night of doing fuck all.” Dan’s already - or still - in joggers and a t-shirt. Phil’s started to get a loose concept of when Dan leaves to go on his runs and sometimes he’s just gone for reasons Phil doesn’t know about. 

“Would you like to watch a movie with me?” Phil asks.

“A specific movie?” 

“Yes.” 

“Which is?” 

“Nightmare on Elm Street.” 

“... why?” Dan asks. 

“Hold on.” Phil lifts one finger in a ‘wait’ gesture then goes into his room, quickly shedding his work clothes and leaving them piled on the floor. He sighs with relief as he steps into pajama pants and a well-worn t-shirt, then rejoins Dan in the lounge. “Because my parents wouldn’t let me watch it as a kid.” 

“Why would you even want to watch it as a kid?” Dan asks. 

“Because it had Johnny Depp in it?” Phil answers, the words just automatically flying out of his mouth. He’s sure he sounds as conspicuous as any human possibly can when he blurts out a half-assed cover. “Because he was just… you know, proper cool.” 

Dan’s face is doing a thing Phil can’t parse. It’s frustrating how often that seems to happen, especially when Phil’s just said a really gay thing to his probably straight flat mate.

It crosses his mind that this would actually be a perfect opportunity to come out to him. All he’d really have to say is ‘and fit.’ Stevie would be proud, and he’d probably feel relieved. He could cross it off his list. It might give him the courage to set some loftier goals, even. 

He doesn’t say anything. He waits, and Dan says, “Yeah, alright,” with a shrug. “But if you wake up in the middle of the night screaming, you’re on your own.”

Phil smirks. “I think we both know who the horror baby is here, mate.”

Dan opens his mouth, presumably to argue, then closes it again, pouting his lips in a way Phil can’t look at for more than a second. 

“This is campy horror,” Dan argues. “Not as scary.”

“Not as scary as trees in the dark?” 

“Fuck off.”

Phil snickers. “My mum told me if I ever watched this film, it’d come back to me in my dreams.”

“Bit on the nose.”

“Yeah. I reckon that scared me more than actually watching the movie would have. I’ve always been curious, though. Everything she told me not to do, I just wanted to do even more.”

“Why didn’t you just watch it anyway?” Dan asks.

“Um… I guess I just— didn’t do that.”

Dan looks incredulous. “You never did things your mother told you not to do?”

Phil wracks his brain for any glimmer of teenage rebellion. He’s infantilized himself far too many times in Dan’s eyes, he’s not really keen to watch that pattern continue. “One time I—” He can’t believe he’s about to voluntarily recount this particular story, but apparently he is. “One time she caught me wanking.”

Dan barks out a laugh. “That doesn’t count. Whose parents haven’t caught them doing that at least once?”

Phil deflates. “It was the worst moment of my existence.” Up to that point in his life, it probably was. 

“Did she specifically tell you you weren’t allowed to wank?” Dan asks. “Because if not, that doesn’t count.”

“I mean— God. No. Of course she didn’t. She didn’t talk to me about… that. Stuff.”

Dan cocks an eyebrow. “Never?”

Phil can feel his face going red. Why did he bring this up? Why didn’t he just make something up. “Not until after the wanking incident.”

Dan laughs again. “So why did you think it was bad, then? What did you think would happen?”

“I dunno - I mean, hairy palms or something, whatever boys on the schoolyard said about it.” Phil actually spent more of his time during those formative years having an extended low grade panic attack over the fact that when he wanked he didn’t think about the things other boys thought about. But… he’s also not going to go into all of that with Dan. 

(No matter how much the figure of Stevie in the back of his mind is quietly urging him to.) 

“I think my parents probably would have been relieved I was just wanking. My mum actually bought me condoms when I was sixteen. I was not a planned thing for them so I figure she didn’t want me having the same mistake she did.” 

Phil doesn’t even know how to respond to that. “Surely she doesn’t think you’re a mistake?” 

Dan shrugs. “I have the movie on VHS, do you want me to get that or would you rather stream it?” 

“Oh, VHS!” Phil says immediately. He settles more comfortably onto the sofa. “Should we order food first?”

“Food and a horror movie?” Dan sounds dubious. 

“Is it really that bad?” 

“Mate. Mid-eightes horror movies were like, here are some teenagers, now they’re fucking, now their insides are spilling out onto the floor like spaghetti bolognaise.” Dan makes a face. 

“Well, I definitely don’t want Italian now,” Phil says. 

Dan crouches down to feed the tape into the player, and Phil really can’t help how his eyes drop down to where half of Dan’s ass is on display. Despite the joggers looking like they’re a perfect fit for Dan somehow they’re managing to still leave far too much pale skin on display for Phil’s liking. 

He devotes five seconds to debating the ethics of whether or not looking at Dan’s ass is okay since he hasn’t come out to Dan, or if it would be worse to look if he had come out. All it does is tie his mind into knots. 

“I don’t eat this early anyway,” Dan says, reminding Phil of what they’d been talking about. “If you’re hungry I can wait.” 

They’ve had takeaway together a few times, but besides that they haven’t been taking meals together. It’s something Phil finds he misses. Eating at his parents’ house was never lonely, and he had a lot of months to get used to company and conversation while he ate. 

Sometimes he’ll ring Ian now when his food feels too lonely to be appetizing. Ian makes fun of Phil for chewing too loudly over the phone and usually finds a way to mention that he still hasn’t forgiven Phil for teaching Emily what ABC food is. 

“I’ll wait too,” Phil says. 

Dan just shrugs and doesn’t question him on it. He turns the lights off before joining Phil on the sofa, but tucked away at the other end of it. It’s a long enough couch that they’re not even close to touching, a whole center cushion between them. 

And suddenly Phil feels a creeping sense of embarrassment. He knows Ian doesn’t necessarily want to listen to him eat, but they’ve known each other forever and Phil’s confident that he wouldn’t do anything he really didn’t want to do just because Phil wanted him to. But he doesn’t know Dan like that. He barely knows Dan at all. 

“Is this weird?” he blurts. The space between them feels simultaneously way too little and like a gaping chasm.

Dan doesn’t seem to understand what Phil’s really worried about. “I mean, a little.” He shifts a little, subtly angling his body in the opposite direction of Phil. “I just hope you don’t let your expectations get too high.”

Phil frowns. “What?” 

Has he been found out, then? Is he pushing so hard for company that Dan thinks he’s flirting? His heart is in his throat, his palms instantly sweaty. 

“This is going to be a proper shit movie,” Dan says. “It’s a thirty five year old slasher film. If you ask me my opinion I’m probably going to have to tell you in great detail how much it sucks.”

Phil can’t help the way his exhale gushes out of him; the relief is just too acute. “Oh.” He laughs a little, weak from the adrenaline of fading fear. “I don’t care. I really don’t. I just want to be able to tell Stevie we can cross it off the list.”

“Who’s Stevie?” Dan asks. “Your girlfriend?”

The laugh Phil barks out is too telling, but he’s got no energy left to worry about it. “No, god. She’s my boss. The one who’s making me do the bucket list thing.”

“Oh. Right. Makes sense.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Phil says. Even absent the truth about his sexuality, he would’ve thought that had been glaringly obvious.

“Alright.” 

Phil feels even more embarrassed than before, now, but he pushes through it because he does still need to know the answer to his original question. “I meant, is it weird me making you hang out with me.”

“You’re not making me do anything. I’m an adult, I can make my own choices.”

Phil withers a little. “No, I know, I just—” He wipes his palms on the soft material of his pjs. “If you’re just saying yes to be nice or whatever—”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not actually that nice.”

“I think you’re nice.” 

Dan’s not really smiling, but Phil can see a dimple denting the centre of his cheek. “Wait til my review of this film. You might reconsider.”

“I like your scathing reviews.”

Dan fully turns to look at him. “Reviews, plural? Haven’t you only been privy to one?”

Phil shakes his head. “Googled you. Found some stuff.”

“Christ.”

“You’re funny,” Phil says. Apparently his filter is broken tonight. “And a good writer.”

“Shut up. Now it’s weird.” He is smiling now, though.

Phil smiles too. “Sorry.” He feels the tip of his tongue poking out between his teeth and he knows it looks stupid but he can’t bring himself to care too much.

“You know this means I have to return the favour,” Dan says. 

“That sounds ominous,” Phil says. 

“Depends on what kind of stuff you’ve put on the internet.” 

“I used to go on all sorts of weird forums when I was younger,” Phil says. “Those ones that were just totally random shite anyone wanted to share - like, funny articles and flash games.” 

“Flash games.” Dan sounds almost impressed. “Those were my childhood.” 

“They were my… well, not my childhood. My teenhood, I guess.” 

“Important question,” Dan says. It makes Phil tense up again. “What was your username?” 

“No way.” Phil immediately shakes his head. “No, I’m not telling you that. That would make it too easy.” 

“Damnit,” Dan curses. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing that I like a challenge and I spend most of my time on the internet anyway.” 

Phil already knows he’s going to google himself later just to see what Dan might see. He can only hope there’s nothing too embarrassing out there. He’s not Dan; he doesn’t have a career where all the search results that come up for him are just accolades and cleverly written pieces. 

“Okay,” Dan says, squaring his shoulder as he raises a remote that’s just as old as the device it’s controlling. “Let’s do this.” 

-

“This is so bad,” Phil says. “So, so bad.” 

“It’s weird,” Dan says, “Because you can see how it might be good, right? The concept of someone that can enter your dreams is proper fucking terrifying. But this movie falls victim to the same thing a lot of horror movies do: it makes too many rules for its universe and then it starts breaking them. The best horror movies don’t even tell you enough for you to notice when they’re contradicting themselves. They just suck you in and you believe it all. What are you smiling at?” 

“You’re being a critic,” Phil says. He definitely is smiling. “A good one.” 

“Shut up,” Dan mumbles, slouching further. 

“The special effects were cool on the ceiling bit, at least,” Phil says. “It almost distracted me from Johnny Depp getting sucked into a bed.” 

Dan opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, then shuts it so quickly that Phil can hear his teeth click together. “There’s no way humans even have that much blood in their body.” 

“You were right about it being cheesy,” Phil says. 

“It’s not over yet,” Dan says, and they fall back into movie watching silence. 

-

Near the end of the film, there’s a particularly brutal jump scare. It’s enough to jolt Phil a little, but Dan - Dan full on shouts. His leg kicks out, foot hitting the coffee table. His hand thumps hard against his chest where it stays clutched in his shirt long after the moment has passed.

Phil laughs. A lot. He feels like an asshole, and Dan is staring daggers at him, but he can’t stop. He clutches his stomachs when the force of his hysterics starts to hurt his poor unsuspecting abdominal muscles.

“Oh my god,” he wheezes. “Oh my god.”

“Absolutely fuck off, you cunt muffin.”

That just makes him laugh harder. There are proper tears in his eyes. He’s laughing so hard that no noise escapes, and he doesn’t have the wherewithal to defend himself when Dan grabs a cushion off the sofa and whacks him in the face with it.

“Fuck off! I already told you I can’t do horror!”

“You said this was campy horror!” Phil shouts back gleefully. “You said it was different!”

“You jumped too!”

Phil’s giggles are reignited as he replays the image of Dan’s entire body spasming. It takes him a while to be able to control himself enough to say, “No one’s ever jumped like _that_. No one in the history of the whole sodding universe.”

Dan scowls, crossing his arms over his chest. “I think I broke my bloody toe.”

“If you go to hospital you have to tell them how you did it.” 

“Who goes to hospital for a bloody toe?” Dan asks. 

Phil is too busy laughing to even answer. 

-

Dan eventually makes his way to his own room. Phil doesn’t try to keep him. He’s had a pleasant night and that little anxious voice in his mind appreciates going out on a good note - where he’s sure he hasn’t overstayed his welcome and doesn’t feel an itch of guilt that maybe Dan is just sticking around to be polite. 

It’s strange, he thinks, making a new friend. Because he thinks that’s what’s happening - they’re becoming friends. Dan’s nice - sort of - and they just… get on. That doesn’t always happen for Phil. Most of his friends he feels like he’s just grown up with, clung to through adulthood and through sheer force of will and determination held onto them. 

But adults lead different lives than teenagers do, and that means that most of his friendships aside from Ian feel like slightly distant things. They have a laugh together when they meet up but it happens less and less often now. 

Now he’s got two people in his life that he sees almost every day. He stretches out on his bed and stares up at the ceiling. 

Maybe London isn’t as lonely as he thought it would be.


	10. Chapter 10

*

*

Ben texts Phil one day in the afternoon. The message reads: _so it’s possible i’m going to be spending a few days in your neck of the woods sooner than later_

It makes Phil sweat. They’ve been texting back and forth lazily ever since he moved here, maybe a few messages a week, neither of them really saying much of anything to the other. A stupid meme here and there, a piece of gossip about their old childhood friend group, a photo of something that reminds one of the other, but strictly friendly. Nothing sentimental, nothing particularly nostalgic. In all their years of pseudo togetherness they never really shared the kind of profundity that would make Phil genuinely sad that they’d never managed to make a proper go of it.

They’re mates. They always were, sometimes with sex thrown in the mix. Now there’s no sex, and there’s no pressure for it to be anything other than occasional correspondence between people who’ve known each other for a very long time.

In which case he reckons he shouldn’t feel so nervous about the prospect of having to see Ben face to face again - but he does. So much so that he leaves the message unanswered for a full day and a half, drafting up about twenty responses that he ultimately deletes before finally managing an _Oh yeah?_ at half two in the morning when the stress of ignoring it gets to be too much for his psyche to handle.

Ben responds the next morning. _could be fun to meet up. hang out a bit, if you’re up for it_

He stews on that text at work all day, until Stevie catches him frowning at his mobile after her evening class. “What?” she demands.

He looks up, startled. She’s got a streak of blue paint in her hair. He ignores her question and points to her head. “You’re one millionth of the way to crossing blue hair off your list.”

She reaches up and ends up smearing it in worse. “Bollocks, I just washed it this morning.”

“I think it’s an improvement. You should just do it for real already.”

“I’ll do it when you’re ready to cross something big off yours as well,” she counters, wiping her fingers on her jeans. 

“I’ll dye my hair blue,” Phil offers. 

“If it doesn’t mean anything to you, it doesn’t count.” She waves goodbye to the last of the students that filter out of the store, then locks the door behind them before turning her attention back to him. “You’re trying to distract me.”

He sighs. “I guess.”

“Just makes me more curious.”

He rolls his eyes and holds out his phone so she can read Ben’s message. 

“Oh. Ben. Like, _Ben_ Ben?” she asks. “The ex?”

He nods, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

“You don’t want to see him? I thought it didn’t end badly.”

Phil shrugs. “It didn’t. It didn’t really _end_ , though. I mean, there wasn’t much to put an end to. It just…” He looks away from her and over to _no net_ , like he always does whenever he wants to feel a little less like himself. “I haven’t seen him since before my dad died.”

“Merde.”

“Yeah. It’s just… weird. I don’t know what I’d have to say to him. I don’t know what he wants.”

“You could ask?”

He snorts. “Yeah. ‘So, are we gonna fuck or nah?’”

She crinkles her nose. “I didn’t say that.”

“That’s what I’d want to know, though.”

She hops up onto the counter. “What would you want his answer to be?”

“I don’t know,” Phil admits. “It’s not… I mean. It’s not like I wouldn’t not want to. I just don’t know that I wouldn’t would want to either.” 

Her brow furrows. “Mon chou, sometimes I don’t know if it’s your language that doesn’t make sense or if it’s just you.” 

“I don’t make sense,” Phil says. “It’s me. But do you know what I mean anyway?” 

“I’m not sure,” she says. “It sounds like… apathy.” 

“Oh.” Phil frowns. “Yeah. Actually. I think that fits.” 

“Apathy and romance do not often go hand in hand.” 

“No, I guess not,” Phil says. “It would be nice to just… be close to someone, though. And I want to see him. I mean, the idea of seeing him is nice. A lunch would be nice. More might be… ” 

“Nice?” she asks, a soft edge of teasing to her voice. 

“Shut up,” Phil says, laughing. “Yeah. It might be nice.” 

“Then it sounds like maybe the best thing to do is just meet with him and see where it goes? Let your head take a rest from trying to guess the outcomes that you can’t possibly know yet anyway.” 

“My head doesn’t take rests,” Phil informs her. “I wish it did. I never learned that lesson in school.” 

She chuckles. “That I might have guessed about you. “ 

-

He’s in a good mood as he heads home, despite Ben’s text weighing on his mind. His job at Atelier is so far away from what he did back in Manchester, and he appreciates the fact that it doesn’t consume his whole world with stress and deadlines and responsibility. 

Maybe that makes him a bit of a twat. There are people who actually need to work for money, and he’s comfortable enough without having to stress over it. But it feels good to have a job that inspires more than sweaty palms and panic attacks. He knows Stevie is at the heart of that. He’s not sure what luck was on his side when he walked into the shop that day, but he’s grateful for it. 

He decides to walk home instead of taking the tube. It’s a nice night, and he needs to think, something he knows he won’t really do once he’s home and the distractions of internet and television are readily available to him. 

He tries to remember the last time he and Ben saw each other properly, but he can’t. Not the specifics anyway. It would have been at Ben’s flat, at night, maybe after Phil had spent the day visiting his dad in hospital. Near the end, that’s what their relationship became: a distraction, an occasional burst of serotonin in the form of pleasure shared between people who cared about each other with no strings attached. 

For some reason, he does remember one detail. He remembers the way Ben had held him tightly at the door before Phil left, almost as if he knew that something big and terrible was going to happen soon.

Ben does give good hugs. The idea of that - of just being wrapped up tight by someone who smells nice, someone who cares about him because they chose to, not because they were born into the same bloodline or because they’re taking pity on him… it makes his stomach feel warm. He’s always been a tactile person, and he misses hugs. 

More might be nice, if Ben’s offering it. But either way, the more Phil thinks about it, the more he reckons seeing an old friend couldn’t be anything but a good idea. He pulls his phone out and texts _Yeah definitely! It’d be good to catch up. Give me a ring when you know the details._ He manages to refrain from using any outdated emoticons, but just barely. 

Dan’s not in when Phil gets home, so he has a lazy dinner of toast and Ribena before retreating to his room. Once there, he is immediately struck by the realization that his room still looks like it belongs to someone who doesn’t have their shit together in the slightest.

Which, to be fair, he definitely doesn’t, and he mightn’t have even noticed it today if not for the fact that he’s suddenly looking at it through eyes that aren’t his own. He’s imagining what it would like to Ben if things were to progress to the point that Phil brought him back here. If Phil brought him back here to have sex.

The humiliation of fucking on a foam mattress at his age is too much. Sharing a tiny flat with a stranger and not having any real furniture is bad enough. Not having a proper job or a plan for his future is bad enough. He needs to order a fucking bed. And a mattress. And some bedding that doesn’t look like the stuff he’d slept on as a teenager.

So he grabs his laptop and gets to work.

-

A few days later, he’s sat in the middle of his bedroom floor surrounded by bits and pieces of a bed frame he’s got no idea how to put together. His new mattress is a tightly rolled cylinder encased in plastic leaned up against the wall, and he’s feeling about as useless and overwhelmed as he did the day he first moved here.

There is a small box of actual screws. Long strips of metal. Instructions that may as well be written in Japanese for all the sense they make to him. 

He’s not thinking about how every time he needed something fixing in his flat before moving back home, he’d just ring up Ben or Ian or his dad. 

It’s one of those moments where being alone in this new city just sneaks up on him. He lifts up the box of screws and just holds it in his hand, sighing at it. 

“Did the screws offend you?” Dan asks. 

Phil jumps, dropping them. The top flies open and they go scattering around the floor. “Oh my god!” Phil covers his heart with his hand. “You scared me!” 

“Sorry,” Dan says. He’s standing in the doorway of Phil’s bedroom, licking non-dairy yoghurt off of a spoon. “Wow, someone went shopping.” 

“Yeah,” Phil says. “It’s a bed and a wardrobe. Oh, and a nightstand. I reckoned it was about time.” 

“The mattress on the floor bit is very uni student chic, but I wasn’t going to say anything,” Dan says. “I’m glad you got some real furniture. I can stop worrying that you’re going to move out and leave me with the soul stealing task of finding yet another flatmate.” 

“Oh, I wasn’t - I didn’t have any plans to leave,” Phil says. “I was just… being lazy.” 

“Procrastination.” Dan nods knowingly and eats another spoonful. It looks like blueberry flavoured. “So you’re spending the day being a DIY master?” 

“More like a DIY fail,” Phil says. “I don’t know how to do any of this.” 

“Never put IKEA furniture together before?” Dan asks. “I thought that was a time honoured tradition.” 

Phil scrunches his face up. “My mum bought the furniture for my first flat for me.” 

Dan snorts. “Are you for real?” 

“She wanted to!” Phil’s voice pitches up at the end. “She and my auntie had this whole shopping day for me. I didn’t care, they were paying for it.” 

“Spoiled,” Dan says, shaking his head a bit in exasperation. 

He walks away and Phil thinks that’s it, that Dan’s gone back into his room, but then Dan’s back sans yoghurt cup. 

“You need help,” Dan says, phrased more like a statement than a question. 

“I need help,” Phil says. “Are you offering?” 

Dan looks at the mess of parts spread out on the floor. He doesn’t actually answer the question, but asks one of his own. “Do you have tools?” 

“Yeah.” Phil pulls the tool kit over. He hasn’t opened it… in a while. He almost hadn’t even brought it with him. It was Martyn who packed it in the box for Phil, with a gentle reminder that he might need it. 

Martyn was right. Of course. 

But that doesn’t make it any easier to reach out and open it. 

“Not bad,” Dan says, sitting on the floor across from Phil and flipping the top of the kit open. “They look brand new.” 

“They might as well be,” Phil says. His throat feels tight and scratchy. 

Dan looks at him. “What’s up?” 

“What?” Phil asks 

“You have a look on your face.” Dan puts down the screwdriver he’d picked up. 

“No I don’t.”

Dan’s still looking at him. “I mean, you do. But whatever.” He looks away, scanning the floor until he spots the instruction booklet for the bed frame. He reaches a long arm out for it and Phil takes the opportunity of not being stared at to blurt out the truth.

“The kit was from my dad.”

Dan straightens up, instructions in hand. “Okay.”

Of course, Dan has no context for why that was a difficult confession to make, and Phil could leave it at that. He could suck it up and try to stop his face doing whatever it’s doing that’s making Dan pick up on the twisty feelings Phil is currently experiencing. 

But the thing is, though he’s thrown, he kind of likes that Dan noticed. 

“He got me this kit like fifteen years ago and I think I’ve used it a grand total of twice, and only when other people were helping me.”

Dan smirks. He’s not looking at Phil anymore, instead casting his gaze downward at the paper. “Doesn’t surprise me, if I’m honest.”

That hurts a little, but he doesn’t think Dan meant for it to. “I think I was a disappointment to him.”

Dan’s eyes shoot up. “What?”

“I mean, not… that was a dramatic way to say it. He didn’t— It wasn’t like that. But I think he always hoped I’d grow up to be a little more… manly.” He realizes too late his use of past tense, but either Dan doesn’t notice, or he decides not to ask.

He does say, “You have no idea how strongly I relate to that.”

Phil frowns. “Really? You?”

Dan frowns back. “What does that mean?”

“Um.” He pulls the nearly empty box of screws closer to him and starts the task of collecting the ones that had scattered. “I dunno. Nothing. Sorry.”

“My dad was and remains a pretty big fan of disapproving of me and my general personality,” Dan says. “I mean, I assume. Haven’t spoken to him in a while.”

Phil doesn’t know what to say. In his head all he can think is that he’d kill to still have a dad to speak to, and here Dan is acting cavalier about ignoring his, but he knows that's irrational. It’s jealousy or regret or some selfish inability to exercise empathy, and he recognizes that enough not to act on it by saying something judgmental and stupid.

The silence stretches out uncomfortably. He thinks Dan’s probably waiting on him to say more, but when he doesn’t, Dan starts reading off the instruction sheet. “Okay, well, you’re in luck because I have work to do.” 

“Why is that lucky?” Phil asks.

“Because having work means I need to procrastinate work,” Dan says. “And assembling furniture is perfect as I’ve got no fucking idea how to do it. It’s gonna take ages.” 

“I’m sure you know more than I do,” Phil says, dropping another screw into the box. 

Dan suddenly looks amused. “I don’t know what I did to make you think I’m in any way a functional adult human man, but I’ll take it.”

“You go for runs,” Phil offers. “I assume that means you’re at least passably athletic.”

Dan snorts. “You’d be wrong.”

“If I tried to go for a run I’d just fall on my face immediately and break my nose. Again.”

Dan takes his time responding. He studies the instructions and then twists round to reach behind him for one of the long strips of metal. He lays it across his lap. “When I was six, my dad signed me up for football. Didn’t ask if I wanted to do it, wasn’t bothered when I told him I didn’t want to go. He drove me to the pitch and practically shoved me into this big group of other boys like he was doing me a favour.”

Phil’s heart is thrumming. Part of him wants to tell Dan that he doesn’t want to hear however the story is going to end. 

But he bites his tongue. It feels important - for their burgeoning friendship, or maybe just for Dan himself. He’s not sure why, but it feels like a moment that matters, and he doesn’t want to screw it up. 

“I tried,” Dan says. “I tried to like it. But about twenty minutes in I took a ball to the face and I cried because it fucking hurt. And everyone laughed at me. And when I looked over to the sidelines—” He stops himself abruptly and swallows, hard. Then he smiles. “Anyway. Sorry. Doesn’t matter.”

“It’s alright,” Phil says quietly. “You can tell me.”

“He was shaking his head,” Dan says. “He was embarrassed.”

Phil can’t hide how the quiet horror of Dan’s story makes him feel. “You were just a kid.”

Dan laughs bitterly. “Yep. Set the stage nicely for my entire childhood and adolescence, though. At the very least he was consistent.”

“My dad never tried to force me to do sport,” Phil says, hoping deflection doesn’t make him look like an uncaring asshole. “I reckon he knew pretty much right away that’d only lead to disaster. He did buy me a cordless hammer drill when I turned eighteen, though. Maybe he thought adulthood would finally turn me into a man.”

“What the fuck does that even mean, anyway,” Dan says, a touch harshly. “What does using power tools or kicking balls around have to do with gender.”

“I dunno,” Phil admits. “I do wish I could figure out stuff like this, though. Not because of gender, just because it’d be nice to be able to keep my glasses on a nightstand instead of having to fumble around on the floor for them in the morning like some kind of blind wombat.”

Dan snorts. “Fair enough.”

“We’ll figure it out, yeah?” Phil says, stretching his leg out to nudge at Dan’s knee with his foot. “The two of us working together must be equivalent to one functional adult human man, right?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Dan picks up the screwdriver again. “But we’re gonna try.”

-

Two hours later they’re surrounded by a sea of boxes, but one nightstand is put together and a bedframe is dangerously close to looking like it might actually hold a mattress. 

“I can’t believe it!” Phil says. 

“I can’t believe we still have an entire wardrobe left.” Dan is sprawled out on the floor. “My fingers hurt. Why don’t you still have that cordless hammer drill? That would literally save our lives right now.” 

“The wardrobe can wait,” Phil says. He’s definitely not looking at the way Dan’s shirt has ridden up a bit. Why do all of Dan’s clothes seem to conspire against him to show just the smallest slivers of flesh? And why is Phil incapable of just ignoring that he lives with a very fit guy? “You should let me thank you.” 

He blurts it out and then belatedly hopes it doesn’t sound as inappropriate as it could potentially be interpreted. 

“How?” Dan asks, sitting up. 

“Food. Dinner.” 

“About that,” Dan says. “You realize we need to do the dishes, right?” 

Phil winces. “Oh, yeah. It’s my turn isn’t it?” 

“I didn’t know we had a turn based system,” Dan says. “But considering you’re the one who managed to get four pots dirty making pasta, yes.” 

“So we’ll go out to eat,” Phil suggests. 

“Really don’t want to do the washing up, do you?” 

“I honestly hate it,” Phil admits. “I had a dishwasher at my last flat.” 

“Must have been a lot newer than this.” 

“Yeah,” Phil says. “But I like this one. I like the bits that make it look older in a nice way.” 

“As opposed to the barely-up-to-code wiring sort of way?” 

“I mean like the window balconies,” Phil says. “And iron work on the outside doors.” 

“I guess it’s not bad,” Dan admits. “Could do with the lift working more often, though.” 

“At least it’s not that many floors up. Come on,” Phil urges him. “Seriously, I wouldn’t have a bed right now if it weren’t for you. I owe you.” 

“You sure you don’t want to hold off the offer until you see if it falls apart?” Dan asks. “Because I made literally no guarantees about the quality of the work.” 

“I need to let the mattress sit for a while anyway,” Phil says, standing up. “So I’ll open it up and, I dunno, unroll it or whatever you do to mattresses like this. Then we’ll go out to eat and by the time we come back I can test the bed.” 

Dan snorts. “Just hang a sock on the door if you’re going to test it that hard. Or will you need the sock, too?” 

“Dan!” Phil’s mouth drops open in surprise. He scrounges for the nearest thing to him and chucks it at Dan. It’s a single screw that hits Dan on the shoulder then drops to the ground. 

“Is it bad that we had this left over?” Dan asks, picking it up. 

Phil shrugs. “They always send extras, right?” 

“Um. Yeah. Let’s just go with that.” 

-

Phil tells Dan to think about where he wants to eat while Phil grabs a quick shower. 

After he’s dried off, he spends a little longer styling his hair than he needs to. And picking out a shirt. 

It’s not a date. Obviously. He knows that. 

But his body seems to be slightly confused. There’s a nervous kind of thrum under his skin as he dabs a bit of cologne behind his ear. Just a little. It doesn’t hurt to smell nice. It’s not for Dan. 

It’s silly. He doesn’t even fancy Dan. They’re mates, and it’s nice. They have some interests in common and they get on well. It just feels a little weird because they’ve never spent time together outside the flat before. It’s messing with Phil’s head a little. 

He jumps when Dan knocks on his bedroom door. “Mate, are you dead? I’m starving.”

“Are you… going to eat me?” 

“What?” Dan asks. “God you’re weird. Hurry up, man. Sushi awaits.”

Phil rubs his jaw, dismayed at the stubble he finds there. He should have shaved, but it’s too late now. He grabs his phone and wallet off his new nightstand and shoves them into his pocket.

When he opens his door, Dan is _right there_ , so close that Phil nearly runs into him. “Oh. Hello.”

Dan backs up a little more quickly than Phil thinks is strictly necessary, like the thought of their bodies accidentally touching is something he definitely doesn’t want to happen. 

Which is fine. Straight guys are like that. 

“Hey,” Dan says. 

“Did you say sushi?”

Dan nods. “There’s a place just down the block.”

Phil tries to seem agreeable, but Dan must catch the hint of apprehension Phil couldn’t temper.

“What?” Dan asks.

“Nothing.”

Dan folds his arms over his chest. “Don’t make me beat it out of you.”

“I just… haven’t historically been a fan of sushi.”

Dan looks perturbed. “Excuse me.”

“It’s just… raw fish, innit? Bit gross.”

“I’m vegan, remember? I don’t eat fish.”

Phil almost makes a crass joke about how he definitely doesn’t either. It’s on the tip of his tongue before he remembers that Dan doesn’t know him like that, so instead he just says, “Oh. Really?”

“It’s mostly just rolled up vegetables and rice. Don’t tell me you don’t like rice.”

“No, I do. Of course I do.” Then he narrows his eyes. “You’re tricking me into eating vegan, aren’t you?”

Dan starts walking down the hall and toward the front door. “Look, I just really want sushi. You said I could choose.”

“I did. I did say that.” Phil grabs his shoes. “How stupid of me.”

“I could always go disassemble your new bed.”

Phil sticks his tongue out. Whatever misplaced nerves he’d been feeling five minutes ago are completely gone, and he’s glad.


	11. Chapter 11

*

*

“You monkey butt face!” Phil shouts at the tv. “I can’t believe you just did that!” 

Phil’s actually having quite a nice day. He only worked a half shift since they had no classes scheduled and Stevie was going to be there. She’s nice about letting him go if there’s really no need to have them both there. She says she won’t let the capitalistic system dictate how she runs her own shop, and Phil still gets a day’s wages so he’s just fine with that. 

He even managed a pleasant (if superficial) fifteen minute phone chat with his mum while he walked home, which was just.. Nice. 

What’s not so nice is how Ian’s thoroughly trouncing him at Mario Kart right now. 

“I’m a what, Phil? What was that?” Ian taunts. 

“You… stupid… I’m gonna… beat you so bad…” Phil leans forward, gritting his teeth in concentration. 

It doesn’t do much good. It always seems like the harder he tries the more his little car swerves around the track. 

He hears Dan’s bedroom door open, but can’t tear his eyes away. It’s late afternoon but Dan often doesn’t emerge until around this hour. Phil has no idea if Dan holes away in his room working or if he’s just waking up. Dan’s schedule is hard to keep track of; he just sort of appears and disappears at will. Most days they cross paths at least once, and it’s nice. 

He looks up to say hi but Dan’s already walking past him. He doesn’t even grunt, but he’s headed toward the kitchen. 

Phil understands the urgency with which hunger can sometimes strike. He doesn’t hold that against Dan. 

He just goes back to playing his game, until he hears a loud slam. 

Then another loud slam. 

Then another. He frowns at the screen, then goes back to trying to close in on fifth place in the game. 

He doesn’t hear Dan approaching, so he jumps when Dan says, “For fuck’s sake, did no one ever teach you how to close a fucking cupboard?” 

Dan’s not shouting but Phil’s heart starts to pound anyway. “Gotta go,” he mutters quickly to Ian, wondering if Ian heard him get chastised by the flatmate that he still keeps pressing Phil for more information about. 

“What?” he asks Dan, pushing the headset off his ears. 

“Just - I nearly fucking concussed myself on one of the cabinets. You left literally every single one open.” Dan’s voice is sharp though still not loud, and his arms are crossed over his chest. 

Phil’s stomach starts to get that queasy feeling. He pushes it down and says in a calm voice, “Sorry.” 

“You always leave them open.”

Phil opens his mouth to apologize again, but Dan interrupts him.

“And what the—” He darts his arm out to scoop up a sock that’s stuck to the arm of the sofa. “Mate, what the fuck is this?”

He feels not unlike a small child being scolded by their angry parent. It feels undignified to have to answer the question, but he does anyway. “My sock.”

“Why do you constantly leave them lying around my flat?”

Phil bristles. “ _Your_ flat?”

“It’s my name on the lease.”

Phil grips the controller tightly. “Are you kicking me out because of socks?”

“I’m just asking you to be a little bit less of a slob.”

“You don’t have to be a dick about it,” Phil says more quietly than he means to. “It’s not like you’re Mr. Perfect, either.”

“The fuck does that mean?” Dan demands. “What did I do?”

“You… you leave the lights on at night,” Phil blurts. It’s stupid but it’s the first thing that pops into his head. “Wastes electricity.”

“You sound like my fucking dad,” Dan spits.

“You always pick up my stuff and put it in weird places so I can never find it.”

Dan’s face actually relaxes at that, the furrow in his brow smoothing. “You’re shouting at me for cleaning up after you?”

“You stay up late,” Phil continues, plowing on despite the fact that he _knows_ he’s making less and less sense with every word he speaks. “I always hear that pretty music you play when I’m trying to sleep.”

Dan smirks. “Pretty?”

Phil snaps his mouth shut. Then he mutters, “Damnit.”

“You idiot.” Dan’s still smiling, dimple denting his cheek. He chucks Phil’s sock right at his face. “You _like_ my music. You think I’m a good flatmate. _Ace_ , even.”

Phil is fully pouting. He balls the sock up and shoves it in his pocket. “Shut up.”

Dan surprises him by flopping down on the sofa right next to him, so close that their hips brush. Phil moves over, but only a little.

“I’m in a fucking foul mood,” Dan announces, throwing his feet up on the coffee table.

“I noticed.”

“You really should close those bleeding cupboard doors, though. One of these days you’ll fuck yourself up proper. Or me. And I need all the brain cells I can get.”

“I’m sorry,” Phil says. “I don’t do it on purpose.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Dan kicks his leg. It’s not gentle, but definitely playful. “I’m taking my stress out on you. But you _are_ a bit of a slob.”

“And you _do_ tidy my stuff away in places where I can never find it,” Phil shoots back. 

“Yeah, that’s also a stress thing,” Dan admits. “Sometimes I just… want the table to be fucking clear in a neurotic way. So I just put everything on it somewhere out of sight. You have my permission to pound on my door and demand to know where things are if I ever do that.” 

“Thanks,” Phil says, then pauses. “Because I actually do need that notice my bank sent me about changing my address.” 

“Oh, um.” Dan pauses and gives him a sheepish look. “I’ll try to find it for you later.” 

A pause falls between them. Phil navigates out of the game he’d been playing with Ian entirely, mostly just shifting through screens as a way to have something to do while he tries to figure out what to say next to Dan. 

It’s Dan who breaks the silence, though. “Am I playing the music too loudly at night? I didn’t know you could hear it.” 

“Yeah, but it’s fine,” Phil says. “It doesn’t bother me.” 

“Because it’s pretty?” Dan smirks again, dimple showing as a faint depression in his cheek. 

“Shut up,” Phil says. “I don’t know. I mean, yes, it is.” 

“I play it to help me try and sleep,” Dan says, then sighs. His head drops against the back sofa cushion. “Not that it’s doing much good lately.” 

“You’re not sleeping well?” 

Dan snorts. “Do I ever?” 

Phil decides not to point out that he doesn’t actually know if Dan ever sleeps because they haven’t really known each other that long. 

“Is there like… anything else?” Phil asks instead. “If you wanna talk about it.” 

“I don’t know,” Dan says. “It’s just - family shit.” 

“I get that,” Phil says, putting the controller down. He picks it right back up again, because his hands feel fidgety. 

“Actually, I guess - I mean, you’re going to find this out anyway. My brother wants to crash here for a few days soon. I said I didn’t think it was a good idea and then he went and told my mum who gave me the most massive guilt trip - little brothers are such twats, aren’t they?” 

“Hey,” Phil says. “I _am_ the little brother, remember?” 

“Well. If the sock fits.” 

“Hey!” Phil punches Dan in the arm. “Anyway, so he’s coming to stay?” 

“Yeah, he’ll just bunk down on the couch,” Dan says. “It’s my sanity that will suffer most. He’s just so fucking… _judgemental_.” 

“About what?”

Dan sighs deeply. “God. Everything? Like, literally everything.”

“Didn’t you say you went vegan because of him?”

Dan nods. “Him and my mum, but she did it because of him too. He’s just… insufferable.”

“What’s he got to be judgmental about?” Phil asks. 

Dan gives him a look. “You don’t have to suck up, I told you I’m not actually cross with you, just lashing out.”

“I wasn’t doing that,” Phil insists, because he really wasn’t. “You eat healthy, you exercise. You can play the piano and you have a really cool job. You’re a great writer and—” He stops himself, because now it does kind of sound like he’s being overly complimentary, even if he’s just pointing out facts. 

Dan laughs. “Get you a flat mate who gasses you up even when you don’t deserve it.”

“I’m not!” Phil half shouts. “Seriously, I’d kill to have things as figured out as you do.”

Dan snorts. “Okay, seriously mate, shut up.” He drops his feet from the table and onto the floor heavily. “Let’s do something.”

“What?”

“I dunno. Anything. I need to get out.”

“And you want me to come?” Phil asks. 

Dan looks at him. He looks like he’s weighing something, like the question is one of grave importance and he needs time to make sure he answers correctly. Finally he says, “Yes.”

-

They leave the flat without a plan. Dan is still wearing sweatpants and a look of exhaustion set under his eyes that makes Phil want to do whatever it takes to turn his day around. 

“So we should definitely get Starbucks, right?” he asks cheerily as they wander aimlessly down the street.

Dan does that amused snort-laugh he so often does when Phil speaks. “You _would_ like Starbucks.”

If they’d only just met, Phil would be offended, or at the very least embarrassed. But he thinks he understands by now that Dan’s teasing is really just the way he expresses affection. “Oh shut up.” He shoves at Dan’s arm. “Everyone likes Starbucks. Even hipsters who pretend they don’t.”

“It’s a capitalistic machine that brands drinks as special in order to upcharge for them when really they’re all made out of the same three ingredients. Like, pumpkin spice latte, what is that? Cinnamon. Nutmeg. I don’t even—” 

“Dan.” Phil cuts him off. 

“What?” 

Phil just grins. “I’m buying. What do you want?” 

Dan looks startled and then, in an only slightly grumpy voice, “Chestnut praline latte with coconut milk.” 

Phil’s laugh is hearty, coming from deep within his chest, but he doesn’t poke fun any more than that. “Alright,” he says, pushing the door to the coffee shop open. 

“You don’t actually have to pay,” Dan says. 

“Consider it me making up for all of the cupboard doors. And also the socks,” Phil says. “So my treat, and I won’t hear any arguments.” 

“Yes, sir,” Dan says, a certain note to his voice that makes Phil glance at him. Their eyes meet and Phil knows, he absolutely knows, that the slight thrill he feels is all in his mind. 

But it’s nice anyway. 

He orders himself a sugary three ingredient capitalistic indulgence with extra whip on top and caramel drizzle. 

“So, are there any horrific things about your brother I need to know?” Phil asks once they’re back outside. “Does he, I dunno, take three hour long showers?” 

Dan snorts. “Not since he was fourteen.” 

Phil laughs too. “Alright, well what else?” 

“It’s just like... I don’t know. There are a lot of things we’re alike on but it takes me twice as long to get to the places he does, you know? I run for my literal sanity, he does marathons for fun. I’m vegan except for when I’m in a really shit mood and I inhale an entire dominos Texas barbecue pizza in one sitting then feel guilty about it for months. He’s been entirely plant based since he was seventeen. I spent years at uni trying to figure out what I wanted to do because I felt like it was what would make my dad proud. He said fuck it and traveled the world just because he could.” 

“Wow,” Phil says. “I feel inadequate just hearing that.” 

“Gee, thanks,” Dan says. “That makes me feel better.” 

“But it’s also not like, realistic, you know? For most people.” 

“Sure, but he and I literally came from the same situation.” 

“Did you, though?” Phil asks. “Because I think sometimes parents take it out more on the first kid. I mean, my brother is way cooler than me, but my dad was also on him to get a business degree and get a proper job with uni. Whereas with me… I think they realized that wasn’t going to work straight away.” 

“Mine just don’t like me,” Dan says darkly. “They’ve always liked him better, so yeah. I guess in a way you’re right. We didn’t necessarily come from the same situation.”

Phil’s stomach has coiled itself into a knot. “That’s not what I said.”

Dan smiles. “Oh, I know. You’re good, mate. I just really don’t want to see him. It always fucks me up.”

“I’m sorry. I wish you could just say no, but… I get it. My mum has a way of getting me to do stuff I don’t wanna do either.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Like move here.”

Dan cocks an eyebrow, clearly curious, but Phil’s not feeling in a soul baring mood at the moment. He wants to give Dan the floor, since he’s clearly dealing with some pretty heavy thoughts. “Is there anything I can do?” he asks. “To make it suck less for you while your brother’s here?”

Dan doesn’t answer right away. He drinks some of his drink and walks and eventually Phil notices that their strides have synced up perfectly. Usually he has to slow his pace a little so that he doesn’t overtake the person he’s hanging out with, but Dan’s got legs for days. They keep up with each other without having to try.

“Don’t be so nice to me,” is what Dan says when he finally says something. 

Phil asks, “Why?”

Dan drinks his coffee and visibly stalls. “I don’t know.” 

“Well,” Phil says. “That’s not a good enough reason.” 

Dan rolls his eyes. “Alright, now you’re nice and annoying.” 

“They cancel each other out,” Phil says. “So you’re fine. We’re both fine.” 

“Are we now?” 

“Mhm.” Phil licks whipped cream off of his straw. “We are. I said so.” 

“And you are…” 

“King of the Universe Lester, at your service. No, wait. You’re at my service, because I’m king.” 

“King of the idiots.”

“Oi.”

“Oi your mum,” Dan retorts.

“Why don’t you just answer the question, Daniel,” Phil says.

“I forget what the question is.”

Phil rolls his eyes. “How can I make your brother’s visit less shit for you?”

Dan closes off again. Phil doesn’t understand why.

“Does it actually bother you when people show you kindness?” Phil asks. “Like genuinely?”

“Maybe I’m just not used to it,” he says quietly, like he’s hoping Phil won’t hear.

He does, though. And he decides to do the kind thing that isn’t performative. He ignores it. He drops the whole topic of conversation entirely. He asks, “How’s your drink?”

Dan takes another sip. “Six out of ten.”

Phil shoves him so hard he almost stumbles into a stranger, but he’s laughing again, so Phil’s counting that a win. 

-

They walk aimlessly for a while, drinking their drinks and enjoying the sun. 

Phil’s enjoying it, at least. He thinks Dan is. It’s hard to tell what’s going on in Dan’s head sometimes. 

Or… all the time. 

“Where do you like to shop?” Phil asks. 

If his mum taught him anything, it’s that retail is a valid form of therapy. 

“Where any normal person likes to shop,” Dan says. “The internet.” 

Phil sighs a big, exaggerated sigh. “Alright, then, we’re going in—” He stops and looks down the street before pointing at a shop two doors down from them. “There.” 

‘There’ is a pet supply store. 

“Phil, are you secretly hiding gerbils in your room?” Dan’s eyes narrow at him. “I’m pretty sure the lease said no pets.” 

“It’s just to look!” Phil says. “Don’t you ever window shop?” 

“Only on the websites of clothing designers that I can only dream of one day affording.” Dan sighs. 

“Well, you’re starting now.” Phil tosses his empty coffee cup into a bin and Dan follows suit. “Besides, you know, if I were stashing something in my room it would be hamsters not gerbils.” 

“... okay?” 

“I was a hamster breeder as a kid!” It doesn’t take much invitation - any at all, really - for Phil to launch into a description of all the many hamsters he had as a child, and all their many - many children. 

“Someday I’ll cease to be surprised by how fucking weird you are,” Dan says, stopping to look at a puppy through the glass. “But today is not that day.”

“It’s not _that_ weird,” Phil says defensively. He’s looking at the puppy, too. It’s a gorgeous golden lab, tongue hanging out of its mouth as it looks back at Dan. “We should buy him,” Phil blurts, without thought for how that actually sounds.

But Dan just shakes his head. “You can’t buy puppies, mate.” He sounds sad. “The whole system is evil, breeders selling to shops. The abuse is rampant.”

Phil looks away from the puppy and over to Dan. He looks as sad as he sounds. “Oh,” Phil says.

“You have to adopt,” Dan says. “It’s the only ethical choice.”

Phil tilts his head. 

Dan looks at him. “What?”

“Nothing.” Phil shrugs. “It’s just nice.”

“What is?”

“How much you care.”

Dan looks like he doesn’t know what to do with that. “Everyone should.”

“Yeah,” Phil agrees. He thinks Dan’s deflecting. Maybe it’s more of that thing where he doesn’t know what to do with kindness. Maybe it extends to matter-of-fact compliments as well. 

Phil turns back to the puppy. “Still wish we could save this one, though.”

Dan turns as well. “Yeah.” He puts his hand up to the glass and the puppy tilts its head and suddenly Phil feels overwhelmed by the injustice of the world. It’s not the feeling he was after when he suggested they come here. 

“Let’s leave,” he says, his distress evident in his voice.

Dan looks at him. “I fucked up your happy place, didn’t I?”

Phil shakes his head. “I’m glad you told me.”

“How about… plants?” Dan says. “How do you feel about them?” 

Phil brightens. “I had loads of plants at my old flat. I gave them mostly away to mates when I moved back with my parents…” 

“I’ve been thinking about getting some,” Dan says. He has his phone out and Phil sees the maps app. “Maybe like, terrariums. Air plants. Things that are harder to kill.” 

“I killed a lot of plants in my day,” Phil says. “But eventually I got the hang of it. Mostly.”

“Alright, then, plant master,” Dan says. “To the garden centre we go.” 

-

The garden centre Dan takes them to is a small quirky shop. Vines and leaves hang above them, overflowing from pots that dangle on chains from the ceiling. The walls visible through the greenery are painted white brick and there seem to be thousands of plants. 

“Ooh, a cacti wall!” Phil takes off for it immediately. 

He doesn’t actually stop to see if Dan’s following him but when he kneels to check out a particularly lively looking cactus, Dan’s shadow falls over him. 

“I want this one,” Phil says, grabbing the planter. “And it needs a friend, so… this one, too.” 

“Wow, you aren’t a big fan of thinking decisions over, are you?” Dan mutters. 

Phil answers honestly. “Some things. Not this, though. Besides, I was just thinking recently that I need something to go on top of my dresser now that I have one. My little plantie friends can live there.” 

“Right,” Dan says. 

“And…” Phil turns and looks around. “Oh, there.” 

He points to a display of terrariums and terrarium friendly plants. 

“I don’t know where I’d put one,” Dan says. 

“You can figure that out when you get home.” Phil puts his cacti down and starts looking around at the different kits. “Do you want a big one or a little one?” 

“I don’t know. I guess a big one would feel more satisfying to look at—” 

“Big one,” Phil says. 

“Wait, you can’t just—” 

Phil glances at Dan, but Dan doesn’t actually seem cross so he keeps going. “Now what do we want to get to put in it?” 

-

They almost can’t carry all their stuff home, but somehow they manage it. Phil wants to get to work immediately putting the terrariums together and arranging his new cacti in his room, but then his stomach grumbles and Dan’s face looks so tired that he agrees it might be better to wait until they have more energy. 

They order Indian and Phil has the thought that he’s never spend this much uninterrupted time with Dan and maybe the polite thing to do would be to offer him some space now, but before he can do that, Dan is falling heavily onto the sofa with his chana masala in his lap and shouting to Phil, who’s still in the kitchen dumping his butter chicken onto a plate, asking what he fancies watching.

“Food Wars,” Phil shouts back, grabbing a fork. He feels his mobile buzzing in his pocket against his leg, but he doesn’t even pull it out to see who he’s ignoring. There’s really nothing else he’d rather be doing right now than eating tasty food and watching ridiculous food porn anime with his flatmate.

Their garden haul sits safely on the little table in the dining room - the table they’ve really never used for their shared evening takeaway meals - as they tuck into their food. 

“I love chickpeas,” Dan murmurs, chewing. 

Phil looks at him, trying to think of a joke. He can’t think of one. Dan looks so young right now. He looks so oddly vulnerable. “I’m glad you have food you love,” Phil says softly. “Even if it’s vegan and sad.”

Dan smiles. It makes his eyes go crinkly around the outside corners. “It’s not sad, it’s really—” He scoops up a forkful of the richly coloured peas and rice and holds it out to Phil. “Just try it.”

Phil’s heart pangs. He doesn’t give it permission, but he can’t help it. He leans in and takes the bite of food from the same fork Dan’s been eating off and even if it tasted sad and deprived of all flavour he reckons he wouldn’t have mentioned it. 

It’s good though, so he says so. “Damn. If all vegan food tasted like that, I might be swayed.”

Dan looks well pleased. It’s a good look on him, and Phil has to force himself to look away from it before it becomes a problem. “You know, it’s really not hard to make food taste good without meat and cheese,” Dan says. “The trick is not to eat the weird shit that’s trying to be a replacement. If you just eat real stuff, it’s good.”

Phil hasn’t come up with a way to form a response yet, as he’s still slightly reeling from the intimacy of being fed from Dan’s fork, but then Dan adds, “Anyway. Sorry. Fuck, I sound like Adrian.”

“No you don’t.”

Dan tilts his head and smiles at Phil and it feels steeped in a fondness Phil’s pretty sure he hasn’t earned. “You haven’t even met him yet, dingus.”

Phil shrugs. “I don’t feel like you’re judging me, just talking about something you care about. It’s nice.”

Dan shakes his head and turns back to the tv. “Stop being nice.”

“Oh, right.” Phil knocks his knee into Dan’s leg. “Forgot. Sorry.”

They lapse into silence, then, just eating and watching their show in peace and it’s dangerously comfortable. Phil is so comfortable. He’s content. The room grows steadily darker as the sun starts setting, and eventually Phil looks over to Dan and realizes that he’s fallen asleep. 

Phil reaches over and very gingerly removes Dan’s plate from where it’s perched tilted on Dan’s stomach. He carries it to the kitchen and puts it back into the takeaway box and into the fridge. Then he goes to Dan’s room and grabs the fluffy blanket he knows Dan keeps at the end of his bed. He brings it out to the lounge and drapes it over Dan’s long sleeping body and tries not to think about the feelings that are settling themselves into his chest without his consent. 

Now is the time he should _definitely_ give Dan some space, but he just can’t bring himself to walk away. He feels an overwhelming protective instinct. So he sits as lightly as he can on the opposite end of the sofa and resumes eating his dinner, resumes watching the show, resumes trying not to think about the shift he sees happening before his very eyes. 

His phone rings again. He checks. It’s Ben. 

His heart does a nervous somersault, but he answers the call regardless. “Hey,” he says, voice hushed.

“Phil, hey.”

It’s weird. It’s weird to hear a voice so familiar that’s become so unfamiliar. It’s nostalgic and sad and incongruous with how his day has gone. He’s not feeling sad or nostalgic today; he’s living so firmly in the present that the reminder of the past that exists feels like whiplash. 

“Hey,” Phil says again.

“Why are you whispering?” Ben asks.

“Um…” He looks over at Dan, watches his chest rise and fall a few times under the blanket. He decides to just tell the truth. “Flatmate’s sleeping.”

“I’ll make it quick,” Ben promises, and bless him for not asking any more questions. “Just wanted to let you know I’ll be in town next week, if you’re still down to meet up?”

Phil can’t look away from Dan. He can’t take his eyes off the look of peace his face has become bathed in. “Yeah,” he says. “Let’s meet up, definitely.”

“Awesome.” Ben sounds happy. 

They make loose plans, then say their goodbyes.

Phil didn’t offer the flat as a locale for their get together. He’s already decided he’s not going to. He doesn’t know what Ben wants, but he decides right then and there that what he’s going to get is coffee and conversation, and that’s it. Whatever they had, whatever their potential was, it belongs in the past, and that’s not a place Phil wants to live anymore.

He’s quite happy where he is.


	12. Chapter 12

*

*

Atelier has a busy afternoon. Phil’s kept well on his toes, between trying to put in a purchase order for some supplies their stock is low on, a group of kids that mill about touching everything and asking Phil questions he doesn’t know the answer to, and the class Stevie is teaching all showing up at once. 

It doesn’t help that his back is twinging. He’s rubbing at it in annoyance with one hand stretched behind him when he pushes the door to the flat open. 

“I need a bloody drink,” he mumbles to Dan as he hangs his bag up, only to realize when he turns around that the person he saw out of his periphery wasn’t actually Dan. 

Though… he does look a lot _like_ Dan, just a younger and lankier version. 

(Not nearly as fit, either, though that’s less of a conscious thought Phil has and more like something he just noticed as an instinctive reaction.) 

“I’ve got a kombucha?” the guy asks, holding up a bottle. 

Phil stares at it. 

It’s got something floating in it. 

“I brought a whole case with me,” he says, then sticks his hand out. “I’m Adrian, by the way. You must be Phil? Dan said he had a flatmate.” 

“Yeah, that’s me.” Phil shakes it. There’s dirt under Adrian’s fingernails. Fair enough, Phil thinks. There’s paint under his own. “I forgot you were coming in today, sorry.” 

“So, kombucha?” Adrian offers again. 

“Oh, um—” 

“Christ,” Dan says, walking out of his bedroom. “Don’t torture him like that. Phil, you don’t have to drink it.” 

There are dark smudges under Dan’s eyes, tension in the set of his jaw. Phil knows without needing to ask that Dan hasn’t slept well. 

Adrian takes a big drink of his. “It’s good. Has loads of healthy bacteria in it—”

“Bacteria?” Phil interrupts. 

“ _Healthy_ bacteria,” Adrian says. “It’s good for your digestive tract.” 

Dan snorts. “Phil almost exclusively likes things that are bad for his digestive tract. Tells me he’s going to buy lactose free milk then I see him sneak-eating a pint of ice cream and he’s in the toilet for an hour.” 

“Hey!” Phil is torn between being amused and genuinely embarrassed. 

Adrian doesn’t seem to realize that Dan’s teasing Phil, though. He just nods earnestly. “Oh, yeah, mate, kombucha will get you sorted right out. And I know a really fantastic nut milk—” 

Phil’s mouth immediately opens to say something, but he closes it again. One look at Dan’s smirk says Dan knows exactly what juvenile remark Phil was going to make. Instead he says, “Dan makes me drink nut milk sometimes.”

Dan’s smirk breaks out into a proper smile. “Only when he’s too lazy to go to the shop and buy his cow juice.”

Adrian seems immune to the humour of the situation. “Cow milk is toxic to the human body. Any biological milk is, but bovine is particularly bad. It also supports an industry of—”

“Oi,” Dan interrupts. “Don’t start your whole spiel. He doesn’t want your bacteria water and he can drink whatever toxic tit juice he wants.”

Phil is immediately uncomfortable. He can see exactly what Dan had been saying about his brother the other day, the judgement, the condescension, but it still feels awkward as hell to watch Dan scold him on Phil’s behalf.

Mercifully, Dan softens the moment. “ _I’ll_ take one, though.” He holds out his hand for a bottle that Adrian goes to fetch happily. Dan looks at Phil. “It tastes weird but it’s kind of good, I dunno. Acquired taste, maybe.”

Phil makes a disbelieving face. “I’m not good at acquiring new tastes.”

“I know,” Dan says, and there’s a hint of fondness behind that exasperation on the surface.

Phil goes to the kitchen. “I was kind of serious, though. I could use some alcohol. Do we have any?”

Dan follows him, taking a sip of his horrible looking bacterial monstrosity. “You mean do I have any?”

“Um.” Phil opens the fridge to rummage around though he knows there’s not going to be anything good in there. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I think there might be some old Malibu in the freezer.”

Phil is about to take the piss out of Dan for having arguably the most sickening kind of adolescent drink on hand, but Adrian beats him to it. “You still drink that shit?”

Dan’s back is to Adrian. He’s facing Phil, and his face contorts into a tortured expression that only Phil can see. He probably shouldn’t find a little thrill in that, in sharing a moment with Dan at his little brother’s expense, but he does. It feels nice that Dan trusts him enough to be himself like that. 

“I remember when you were a teenager you came home one night projectile vomiting that stuff all over the bathroom,” Adrian continues. “I thought you were dying.”

“I was,” Dan says gruffly. “As if you never got drunk off your ass when you were sixteen, mate.”

Phil’s skin prickles. He hates confrontation, always has. It’s almost worse when it’s not his own, when he’s a bystander to someone else’s conflict. He can’t handle it, so he blurts out, “So, Adrian. What brings you to London?”

“I flew in from Portugal and I’ve got a flight back out to Canary Islands in a couple of days, so Dan said I could crash here. I could have gone back home - back to Wokingham - but I’ve actually been wanting to do some street photography in London.” He pauses, then adds: “I’m a photographer.” 

“Oh, that’s nice,” Phil says. “For a magazine?” 

Adrian laughs, like somehow out of all the things that Phil’s said, that is the joke. “Nah, man. I post my work on instagram and sell prints.” He does some sort of hand gesture that Phil vaguely recognizes as being done by people weirder and/or douchier than he is. 

“Oh, nice,” Phil says, smiling placidly. He’d really like that drink now. He thought he’d be face down in his bed by now. Though maybe that’s not the best idea either, since the bloody mattress is what’s making his back twinge. “Well, I’ll just - I smell of paint, I should change my clothes.” 

It’s the least subtle segue into leaving a room that he could possibly imagine but Adrian doesn’t seem bothered. 

He shoots Dan a sympathetic smile as he walks by. 

-

Phil doesn’t mean to eavesdrop. 

He just can’t help it. The walls to the flat are thin. From his bedroom he can hear without trying, and that’s what he’d say if anyone were to ask. 

That he wasn’t trying. 

Because he isn’t. 

He’s just… lingering near the door, because that’s where he happens to want to stand. 

And it just so happens that what he hears, while casually standing in this spot, are the raised voices outside of the room. 

He didn’t catch the beginning of the argument but he can hear what’s being said now. “Psychiatry is another arm of the capitalist machine, man. They want you to think you can’t reach mental stability without paying them two hundred pounds a visit in perpetuity.” 

“Right, and how much do you charge for your self-help ‘sessions?’ Dan asks. 

Phil can basically hear the air quotes. 

“Sliding scale,” Adrian says. “But if you’re interested, I can give you a family discount—” 

“Not interested.” Dan’s voice is flat. 

“I’m just saying, I think nature is more healing than addicting yourself to a life of chemical dependencies.” 

“You do realize that depression literally means my brain _doesn’t make_ the chemicals I need?” Dan asks. 

Phil’s never heard Dan properly angry, but he might be about to now. He can tell Dan’s starting to lose his temper.

“I do,” Adrian says. “But I think you’re underestimating how chemically balancing honest exercise and living plant based can be. There are studies, I can show you—”

“Sorry, still not swayed by crackpot pseudoscience.” 

Adrian’s voice starts to take on an edge, too. “I got this from Uncle—” 

Phil swings the bedroom door open. His inner hatred of confrontation has taken the reigns and he blurts out, “So, tell me more about your photography.” 

The second Adrian looks at Phil, Dan escapes into his room. 

He only stays in there for ten minutes. In that time Adrian’s pulled out his phone and started showing Phil endless weirdly photoshopped landscape shots. He’s sure it’s psychosomatic, but his back is hurting more now than it was when he first got home. He winces, reaching back to rub ineffectually are the sore spot as Adrian tells him a story about swimming in an ice cold lake in Scotland in February.

“You know, cold water is actually very healing,” Adrian says. “You should try it.”

Phil opens his mouth and kind of just leaves it there. He never would have imagined that Dan was _under_ exaggerating his brother’s complete lack of humility, but Phil’s only been in his company for twenty minutes and already there’s a tension headache forming behind his eyes.

“In the shower,” Adrian adds, when Phil hasn’t responded.

“I hate cold showers.” He doesn’t mean to be rude, and he’d rather take cold showers for the rest of his life than get into a proper argument with his flatmate’s brother, but he reckons he’s got to draw the line somewhere.

Like a genuine act of god, at that precise moment his phone starts ringing. He practically pulls a muscle in his shoulder with how fast he gets his hand in his pocket to pull it out and answer it. He doesn’t check who’s ringing him, because frankly he doesn’t care. 

But he’s surprised when the voice on the other end of the line is Dan’s. “Hey.”

“Um. Hey.”

Dan sighs. If Phil listened hard enough he’d probably be able to hear it through the door without any help from the mobile. “So, this is weird.”

“Yeah,” Phil agrees, angling his body away from Adrian’s. “You, um… you weren’t kidding, eh?”

Dan snorts. That time Phil _does_ hear it through the door. “He’s unbearable.”

“I can’t disagree.”

“Can we get out of here?” Dan asks. “You said you needed a drink, and I wouldn’t mind one too, now.”

Phil doesn’t need to think about it. “Absolutely.”

-

“Should I feel like a jerk that we didn’t invite him?” Phil asks as they walk. The sun is only just starting to think about making its descent, and the pavement is abustle with commuters on their way home from work.

“Fuck no.” Dan already looks to have perked up in the fresh air and the glorious absence of his little brother. “First of all, he’s a git. Second, he wouldn’t touch beer and greasy pub food if I paid him.”

“Is that what we’re having?” Phil asks.

“That’s what I’m having.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Might even fuck around and eat an animal.”

Phil frowns. “Just out of spite?”

Dan looks at him. “What’s wrong with spite?”

“Nothing.” Phil looks away. Dan’s energy is a bit more aggressive than usual, and Phil’s nerves are strung tight from listening to him and Adrian toe the line to a proper row. “Just… doesn’t feel like you.”

Dan doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Phil’s afraid he’s overstepped, but then Dan sighs, long and noisy. “I know. Fuck.” He ruffles through his hair again, pulling at it a little. “This is what happens. When I see my family, I turn into someone I don’t like.”

Phil thinks of that conversation with his mum and Martyn when she told them about selling the company. “I understand that.” 

Dan glances over at him. “Yeah?” 

Phil shrugs. “I guess we’ve all got family stuff.” 

Dan turns a corner and Phil follows. He assumes Dan knows where they’re going. 

“I guess,” Dan says. 

Phil shoves his thumbs into his pockets, fingers hanging out and tapping against his hips. It doesn’t take too much longer before they’re at the promised pub. Most of the people gathered around the bars and tables are actually eating, too early in the evening for most people to be properly drunk. 

It also smells incredible. Phil’s instantly reminded that he hasn’t eaten since a hurried lunch much earlier in the day. “I’m definitely going to eat an animal,” he says. 

Dan laughs like Phil just surprised the sound out of him. “I guess I won’t. But I’m _not_ going to ask what their chips are fried in before I start shoveling them into my face.” 

“Good plan,” Phil agrees. 

They put in food orders at the bar and get a pint each. Phil doesn’t normally drink beer, but this doesn’t look like a fruity cocktail sort of place. 

Once they’re sat at a table alone, Dan sighs. “I feel like a dick right now. He’s not always bad, you know. Sometimes when we’re at home for Christmas or mum’s birthday we’ll stay up late playing video games.” 

“My brother and I do that.” Phil smiles at fond memories. “Just like when we were kids.” 

“Adrian and I didn’t really play a lot of video games together as kids,” Dan says. “I’m six years older than him, and I treated him pretty shit when we were growing up. For a lot of reasons, none of which were actually his fault. My therapist says that I need to have a conversation about that with him at some point.” 

Phil doesn’t know much about that - therapy, or having younger siblings. But he can relate on one note. “I was jealous of my brother loads growing up. Martyn’s athletic and coordinated and has a lot of talent with music and always had girlfriends he brought over who mum and dad loved… I always felt like there was nothing I could do to compete.” 

“If Adrian ever felt like that, he doesn’t anymore,” Dan says. “If anything, it’s me resenting him now for having taken risks I didn’t think I was allowed to take. I used to think if I just said fuck it and was who I wanted to be, or did whatever I wanted to do, that I’d be disappointing them or something. So I didn’t take any big risks, and I disappointed them anyway. Adrian does whatever the fuck he wants whenever he wants to do it, and my parents love him.” 

“Ouch,” Phil says. He’s not sure how much of what Dan’s saying is through a skewed lens, but he reckons it doesn’t really matter. Sometimes even knowing you’re being unreasonable can’t make your emotions work any differently. 

Phil picks up his beer and downs half of it in four long swallows. 

“Wow,” Dan says, faintly impressed. “Challenge accepted.” 

He tips his own bottle up and does the same. Phil allows himself to watch the way Dan’s neck stretches, the way his adam’s apple bobs. He looks away, drawing his finger across the condensation on his own glass just as Dan brings his drink back down.

“Ugh,” Dan says, face crinkled up a bit.

Phil smiles. “Beer is a bit gross, innit?”

“It is when you chug it.”

Phil takes another drink, but a dignified one this time. He doesn’t actually feel the need to get drunk as quickly as possible. It’s not like he had a bad day, really. He’s just a bit sore. A bit tired. A bit anxious about seeing Ben next week. 

A bit unnerved by how much he seems to care about how tired and sad Dan looks. 

“What kind of risks would you take?” Phil asks.

“Hm?”

“What kind of risks did you want to take but didn’t?” His heart is beating a little quicker, nervous he’s barking up a tree Dan would like to leave undisturbed. “Or what ones would you wanna take now?”

Dan leans back in his chair. He sits there for a long time not saying anything, and eventually Phil can’t take it.

“I guess it’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot since Stevie’s making me do the bucket list.”

Dan smiles, probably happy for the focus not to be on him. “Added anything new to it lately?”

Phil shakes his head. “It’s strangely hard to come up with things to want. I mean… I dunno. A lot of stuff I really want is literally impossible without a time machine, so…”

Dan cocks an eyebrow.

Phil could tell him. He could talk about his dad. It might be nice. Cathartic. Might make Dan feel some solidarity in his family issues. 

But saying the words feels hard, and he doesn’t really want to make this night about his pain. “It’s fine,” he says. “I think the list is as much for her as it is for me. Maybe she’s got a saviour complex thing going on. I’m a project.”

Dan clicks his tongue. “Yikes.”

“It’s not bad,” Phil says. “I mean, it’s nice. She’s nice. A bit intense sometimes, but who knows. Maybe that’s what I need.”

“Do you fancy her?” Dan asks.

Phil snorts, then immediately panics. It’s not such a ridiculous question for someone who doesn’t know that Phil’s known he’s gay as the day is long since he was twelve years old. “Um, no. No, it’s definitely not like that.”

Dan shrugs like Phil’s answer doesn’t even really matter. “Probably better not to mix work with relationships anyway.” 

Part of Phil wants to ask if Dan has had any experiences with that, but the slightly childish part of him just doesn’t want to hear about any of Dan’s exploits with women. 

“What about you?” Phil asks instead. “Given any thought to what you’d want on a bucket list?”

“Not really,” Dan says. “I have commitment issues. Or maybe just this knowledge that at every point in my history I’ve thought I knew who I was and then three years later been like, wow, what a fucking twat I was three years ago. I mean, I’d love to get a tattoo, but it just seems like I’d be guaranteeing myself a future regret.” 

“How do you know, though?” Phil asks. “That you wouldn’t love it if you did it?”

“When I was fifteen I wanted angel wings on my back.” Dan says it with a deadpan expression, but Phil somehow instinctively knows he doesn’t need to quell the laugh that rises up. “Yep. I’m serious. Angel wings. On my back.” 

“That’s bad,” Phil admits. “But fifteen! Surely you’d have a better idea now.” 

“Maybe, but I just - commitment issues, okay.” Dan finishes off his beer and then turns his head in a move that seems cool to Phil. It’s something about the way Dan gets the attention of one of the girls serving drinks around and does a little head tilt nod. 

It’s practiced. 

“Do you come here a lot?” Phil asks. He finishes his own beer and the girl puts a new bottle down in front of him as well. Phil smiles to thank her. 

“Nah,” Dan says. He looks down at his phone. “Oh, Adrian left.” 

“For good?” Phil asks, surprised and immediately guilty. Adrian hadn’t seemed bothered by them leaving, but maybe—

Dan interrupts Phil’s thought spiral. “Just out to do some night photography in the city.” 

“That sounds dangerous,” Phil says. His mum hadn’t liked him walking alone at night in Manchester even when he’d been twenty-five and freshly in a flat of his own. 

“I think he’s impervious to danger. Or he thinks he is,” Dan says. “He goes all sorts of places that make our nana worry.” 

“You always talk about your grandmother and never your mum,” Phil says, before he can think better of it.

Dan shrugs. “My grandma pretty much raised me.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Not Adrian, as much. But for the first, like, four or five years of my life I lived with my grandparents. My mum and dad didn’t get married and give parenthood a proper go until Adrian came around.”

“Fuck,” Phil says quietly. He doesn’t swear often, but after a confession like that it feels warranted. 

Dan smiles ruefully. “As you can imagine, even before my brother was an unbearably pompous little dickhead, I wasn’t his biggest fan.” He takes another long drink of his beer, and this time Phil doesn’t look. His own stomach feels kind of sour, now.

“I’m sorry,” Phil says. It’s all he can think to say. 

Dan kicks his foot under the table. “Hey, man. It’s fine.”

Phil looks up, warmth flooding his chest as he meets Dan’s eyes. It’s not right. Dan shouldn’t be the one comforting him. It’s all backwards, but it makes him feel a goddamn lot, whether he’s earned that kind of consideration or not.

“My grandma is the coolest person in the world anyway,” Dan continues. “If anything I got lucky.”

“Mine were all pretty much as old and boring as you’d expect,” Phil says. “My parents are cool, though.” He says it like that - they _are_ cool, and it knocks the breath out of him afterwards. He’d been doing pretty well the last few days, even managing to go long stretches of time not actively remembering the dad shaped hole his life now contains. His throat goes instantly tight, so he tilts his pint back against his lips and chugs down half of it in one go. Again.

Dan cocks an eyebrow. “Thought beer was gross.”

“It is.” Phil wedges his mouth into the inside crook of his elbow to attempt discretion as he belches out the carbonation that bubbles up. “Ugh. It really is.”

“Slow down,” Dan says. “We’ve got all night to get hammered.”

Phil laughs. “Is that what we’re doing?”

“Oh definitely. It’s a ‘drinking to forget’ kind of night.”

Just then the waitress brings them their food, and it’s the best possible distraction Phil could have asked for. He’s got a massive burger and a small mountain of chips in front of him, and for shitty pub food it looks pretty incredible. There’s even bacon poking out from under the bun.

“Mate, why’d you have to get something that smells so good?” Dan asks. “I’m trying to be ethical and compassionate over here.”

“I’m sorry,” Phil says, and he almost means it. He reaches for the vinegar that’s sat in a little pot with salt and pepper and dumps an obscene amount onto his chips. “You drink to forget, I shovel down calories to distract.”

“Well, at least I can do that, too.” Dan’s own plate of chips isn’t exactly small. “Would bloody murder for some cheese and bacon on these, though.” 

“No you wouldn't,” Phil says. 

“What?”

“You wouldn’t murder for it.” Maybe the speed at which he drank the beer is going to his head a wee bit fast, because he giggles at his own cleverness. “Because you’d have to murder the cow to put bacon on and you won’t do that, so you’re not-murdering to not have it.” 

“Cow?” 

“What?” 

“You said bacon comes from a cow.” 

“No I didn’t,” Phil says. He actually has no idea what he said. “Bacon comes from pigs.” 

He’s not drunk yet. Two beers won’t do that. He’s just… a bit fuzzy headed. 

Dan points a chip at Phil. “Oink oink, motherfucker.” 

They both laugh and it feels like some of the tension of the day is bleeding out with the sound. 

Drinking to forget, indeed. 

-

They don’t really forget anything, though. Because Dan does keep bringing Adrian up and Phil does keep making little comparisons here and there to his own life, his own relationship with his brother. 

Bottle after bottle lines their table until they’ve got an easy half dozen each. The server goes and clears them away and Phil orders a second plate of chips, this time sweet potato fries. 

“You have to know you’re sharing those with me,” Dan informs him.

Phil’s already got a handful shoved into his gob. “Huh?”

“Gimme some.”

“What’s the magic word?” Phil slurs.

Dan doesn’t seem to need time to think. “Penis.”

Phil blinks. “That works.” He shoves the plate towards Dan and tries not to act too conspicuously weird. Is he being too friendly? Is Dan trying to tell him something?

Instead of being a mature adult, he goes full tilt in the other direction. “Is your penis magic?”

Shit, he really is drunk.

Dan takes it in stride. He must be drunk too. “I said penis, not _my_ penis.”

“Oh.” He reaches across the table for more fries. “I’m sorry your penis isn’t magic,” he says solemnly.

Dan snorts so hard a little bit of chewed up food flies out of his mouth.

“Ew!” Phil squeaks.

“Your fault, dumbass!” He wipes his mouth. “Stop talking about my penis!”

“Stop _shouting_ about your penis,” Phil shouts back. “Anyway, you brought it up!”

“I didn’t!” Dan is grinning widely now. He picks up his current pint and tips it back against his mouth, dribbling some down his chin.

Phil can’t handle that. He starts giggling and doesn’t stop until Dan throws a soggy orange chip at him. “Oh my god,” Phil wheezes. “You’re gonna get us kicked out.”

“Me?! _Me_?!” Dan demands. “You’re the one laughing like a hyena and denigrating my penis.”

“I’m not! I never— don’t say denigrating.” Phil pushes his glasses up onto his forehead so he can wipe the tears from his eyes. 

“Too big a word for you?” Dan teases.

Phil pulls the plate back in front of him and sticks his tongue out just like the thirty three year old grown ass man that he is. “Shut up. I wasn’t even doing that.”

“The word penis has lost all meaning. It’s not a real word.”

“Good thing there are like seventy billion other words for… that.”

Dan nods sagely. “True, true.” His cheeks are flushed a lovely rosy colour from the laughing and the drinking. He steals another of Phil’s chips. “Willy.”

“Dick.”

“Cock.”

“Todger.”

Dan makes a face. “Hate that one. Umm… dong.”

Phil snickers, covering his mouth with his hand. “Dong is way worse than todger!”

“Todger sounds like an old man’s smelly wrinkled up—”

“Stop.” Phil holds up his hand. “I’m trying to eat.”

“Okay fine. One eyed trouser snake.”

“Dan!”

Dan snorts and laughs some more, clutching his stomach and throwing his head back. Phil loves it. He’s never seen Dan laugh like this, like he has to use his whole body to get it all out.

“Peen,” Phil says, mostly just to distract himself from wanting to reach out and dip his finger into Dan’s dimple.

“Prick.”

“That one used to confuse me,” Phil admits. “When I was a kid or whatever. It made me picture, like, a giant needle where the dick was supposed to be.”

Dan shakes his head, but it looks fond. “You poor sweet little idiot man.”

“I was a really… let’s say gullible kid. Maybe I was stupid, I dunno. But once, I asked Martyn what girls use to pee and he told me they have two willies that move around like snakes and I actually believed him until I asked my auntie how she knew which willy to pee out of.”

“Stop,” Dan whines. “Why is that cute?”

“Ooh!” Phil exclaims excitedly. “Pork sword!”

“Are vegans allowed to suck off something called a pork sword?” Dan ponders out loud. 

It just sets Phil off even harder. “If you’re eating it, you’re definitely doing it wrong!” 

It doesn’t even occur to Phil that Dan probably isn’t doing that at all, and it doesn’t seem to occur to Dan either. “You can’t tell me there aren’t at least bacon flavoured condoms out there on the market.” 

“I’m sure there are, but - ew!” Phil scrunches his face up. 

“What, don’t want bacon flavoured trouser snake?”

“You reused that one,” Phil points out. 

“Shut up and drink. You’re not drunk enough if you can remember what I said five minutes ago.” 

“Has it been five minutes?” That Phil really can’t remember. “Oh, god, I have to work tomorrow, and I’m going to be hungover aren’t I?” 

“Just tell your boss the ole’ yoghurt slinger is to blame.” Dan leans back in his seat. “The skin flute. The tonsil tickler.” 

“Stop, stop! You’re ruining all the words! Every word! Is ruined!” Phil puts his head down on the table and groans. 

The server walks by. “He alright?” she asks Dan. “If he’s going to sick, get him to the toilets.” 

“No, he’s fine,” Dan says. “You’re fine, aren’t you Phil?”

“Fine,” Phil groans. 

“He’s just having some issues with his third leg.” 

Phil’s head shoots up, prepared to be mortified - but the server has already walked away to check on the other tables. “I hate you.” 

“Sure you do.” Dan steals the very last sweet potato fry. 

“I’m never having yoghurt again.” 

“That’s a fucking lie,” Dan says. “And you know it. You don’t have any willpower when it comes to food. If I produced a cup of yoghurt right now, you’d eat it.” 

“If you produced a cup of yoghurt right now, I’d question where you got it from,” Phil says. “And I would not trust it at all.” 

“... too right to,” Dan says. “I wouldn’t trust it either.” 

Phil slumps back against his own seat. His chest hurts from laughing and the room is swaying gently. He cannot, with all sincerity, remember the last time he laughed so much. 

It’s been a year, at least. 

The feelings soften in Phil’s chest, crawling warmly up his throat. “This was a good idea,” he says. 

“It was. It was exactly what I needed.”

“I’m glad you chose me and not one of your other mates,” Phil says.

“Phil.” The word rolls off Dan’s tongue like it belongs there. He leans forward, putting his elbows on the table, looking right into Phil’s eyes. “You’ve been living in my flat, what? Almost a month now? Have you ever once seen me hang out with another person who wasn’t you?”

It feels like a trick question. “You go out enough. It’s not like I follow you when you leave the building.”

“Fair enough.”

Phil frowns. “So, what. You don’t have friends?” He knows he wouldn’t put it that bluntly if he was sober.

And Dan probably wouldn’t answer the way he does if he was sober. “I know people. Don’t think I’d go so far as to call any of them friends.”

“We’re friends.” Phil swallows. “Aren’t we?”

A smile creeps up on Dan’s face very slowly. “I think so.”

“We are.” Phil nods his head. “We are.”

“Right, then. We are.”

“Why don’t you have more friends?” Phil asks. “You’re great.”

Dan rests his chin on one of his fists. “Commitment issues. Abandonment issues. Trust issues. All the issues, basically. If I don’t have people, I never have to go through the pain of losing them.”

Phil doesn’t know what to say to that. It hits way too close to home, and he deeply regrets starting this whole topic of conversation now. He opens his mouth, then closes it again.

Dan kicks him under the table. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I have a therapist and a few online people I talk to and my nan and… I guess you, now. I’m fine. Don’t make that face.”

“What face?”

Dan reaches across the table and cups under Phil’s chin. “This one.”

He pulls his hand away fairly quickly. There’s no lingering touch, but the feeling it leaves behind definitely lingers. Phil’s even more stunned now than he was a moment ago.

“Don’t make me bust out any more nasty penis euphemisms,” Dan threatens. 

Phil laughs away the tension. “You were too quick with yoghurt slinger. That’s fully disgusting.”

“Descriptive, though.” Dan grins. “I’m a writer after all. A wordsmith, Phil. Philip. Is your name Philip? It must be.”

“It is,” Phil says. “Philip Michael Lester.”

“That’s the whitest name in this history of the universe.”

“What’s yours?” Phil demands. 

“Daniel James Howell.”

“White kettles shouldn’t throw stone houses,” Phil informs him.

Dan laughs so hard that Phil’s fairly sure a little bit of snot comes out of his nose, but he decides to be a gracious friend and pretend he didn’t see. He likes making Dan laugh. It’s quickly becoming one of his favourite pastimes.


	13. Chapter 13

*

*

Phil’s alarm goes off at the ungodly hour of 8 am. He presses snooze twice, as if an extra eighteen minutes is going to mean the difference between a pounding hangover headache and feeling fresh as a freaking daisy.

It doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t. All it does is make him feel just that little bit more groggy from being jerked awake just at the brink of falling back to sleep. Twice. He lies flat on his back and stares at the blurry ceiling, listening to the cars outside his window. He should definitely call in sick. Even just opening his eyes feels like torture.

But when he thinks of ringing Stevie and telling her he can’t come in because he was irresponsible and got drunk on a school night, the sour twist of guilt is worse than the ache in his head, so he drags himself up and into a shower that’s more about trying to bring himself back to life than it is about actually getting clean. He even tries to wank, but he can’t manage to get it up long enough to follow through. 

He has a moment of genuine despair at the realization that he’s old enough to have a proper hangover just from a six pack of beer. At uni he could drink all night and still be relatively human by the time his first class started. Not that he _liked_ to drink all night, that was more peer pressure than anything else, but still. Knowing that the option is gone makes him feel like a withered bag of bones.

When he goes to the kitchen for some much needed coffee, Dan is already there. Phil smiles, until he sees that Adrian is there too. Why are they both up so early?

“Why are you both up so early?” he croaks.

“I always get up early,” Adrian says. “There’s statistical proof that people who wake up with the sun are happier.”

Dan snorts, but doesn’t say anything cutting, and Phil’s glad for it. He can’t stomach being caught between any arguments right now. 

“I need coffee,” Phil says.

“Water’s already on.” Dan frowns at him. “What’s wrong with you? Are you hungover?”

“Are you not?” Phil demands. 

“Not really.”

“Dan, do you have kale?” Adrian asks. “Or spinach? And ginger? I can make a detox smoothie.”

Phil gives Dan a nakedly pleading look. The thought of choking down a chunky beverage full of vegetables right now is unbearable.

“He just needs drugs,” Dan says. “Besides, Phil is allergic to nutrition.”

“It’s true,” Phil says. “I am.” 

“You should at least try and load up on some supplements,” Adrian says. “Vitamins B and C do loads of good for a hangover.” 

Right now all Phil’s interested in taking is paracetamol and maybe drinking his weight in coffee. 

Dan takes pity on him and pulls down a bottle of tablets, shaking two out. 

“More,” Phil demands. 

Dan narrows his eyes at Phil before giving him a third. 

Phil decides not to push his luck and dry swallows three of them before reaching into the fridge for milk. He’s the only one in the house who drinks it so he doesn’t bother with a glass, just swallows down cold refreshing tit juice straight from the bottle. 

Dan’s busy with the coffee and Adrian’s leaning back against the counter eating a yoghurt. 

“How was the, um.” Phil struggles for a second to remember what Adrian was doing. “Night photography?” 

Adrian’s whole face lights up. His smile is strange in that it’s slightly similar to Dan’s but there’s a whole world of difference in the angled sharpness of their jaws and the way those similar smiles make Phil feel. 

Memories of last night resurface, of their ridiculously juvenile conversation and how hard they both laughed. He remembers how they continued to laugh as they walked back to the flat and how they lingered in the kitchen for another twenty minutes drinking water and laughing some more before they retreated to their respective sleeping places. Dan had taken the couch, because despite being endlessly irritated by Adrian’s shit, he’s a good brother and gave up the bed.

“It was brilliant,” Adrian says. He starts talking and, honestly, Phil doesn’t even have to extend any effort into tuning him out. He smiles and nods and occasionally murmurs a little, “nice,” or, “yeah,” as he shovels dry cereal into his face and pours coffee straight down his throat.

Dan doesn’t seem as bothered about indulging Adrian’s blathering about angles and ‘capturing the gritty reality of blah blah blah,’ because he cuts him off mid sentence to ask Phil if he’s working today.

“I am, yeah,” Phil says. “I definitely wouldn’t be awake if I wasn’t contractually obligated.” The face Dan makes is so brazenly disappointed that Phil actually apologizes. “Can’t leave Stevie to fend for herself today, she’s got classes.”

“Traitor,” Dan mutters under his breath, then, more loudly, “I have to go out today anyway.”

Phil’s pretty sure that’s not at all true, but he’s not going to call Dan out on it if he feels the need to escape for a little while. 

“I’ll just chill here,” Adrian says, though neither of them actually asked him what his plan was. “I have a friend that might come hang for a bit, if that’s cool?”

“Fine with me.” Phil shrugs and lifts the precious mana from the gods known as coffee up to his lips and drinks deeply. 

-

He makes it through an hour and a half of every crash, clang, and loud shout through the store before Stevie announces that he needs more coffee and sends him out for some. He’s glad, walking through the children waiting on their parents to pick them up after a class and then inhaling fresh (well, as fresh as the city gets) air through his lungs. 

It’s a different kind of loud outside but it’s easier on his still-aching head. When he gets back to the shop, it’s cleared out completely and Stevie’s slightly off-key singing is ringing out from the back room. 

Phil expects to see the room a complete mess, but Stevie’s already got most of it sorted. “Was I gone that long?” he asks. 

“I’m trying to teach them to tidy after themselves,” Stevie says. “And would you know, they actually listen more than the adults. Especially the in vino veritas class.” 

Phil laughs, because he knows exactly what she means. He’s been hit on by very tipsy women more than once when that one lets out. 

“Anyway,” she says. “I didn’t want to put everything up. I thought perhaps you and I could paint this afternoon.” 

“What about the shop?” Phil asks. 

“We can leave the studio door open and I’ll put a sign on the desk that says call out for one of us,” she says, then looks at him with a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. “But maybe not too loudly, eh? At least until the coffee kicks in.” 

Phil groans. “Is it that obvious I’m hungover?” 

“Hungover, headache.” She shrugs. “Bad day in the brain. You just didn’t seem to be doing your best.” 

“I went out with my flatmate last night.” Phil pulls up a chair and sits, waiting for Stevie to bring him the supplies she deems necessary for today’s cathartic art-making. “I drank beer. Too much beer.”

She puts a small canvas in front of him. “So you’re getting on.”

“Yeah. He’s cool. We’ve always got on, though.”

She twists her hair up and secures it with a pencil, something he’s come to realize is really her signature look. “There’s getting on, and then there’s going out and getting drunk together.” She gives him a pointed look.

He frowns. “He wanted to get out. I did too. We both wanted drinks. It just worked out. What are you implying?”

She pulls up the chair next to him and sits. “Nothing, mon chou. Nothing at all.”

He’s about to press the issue, because he can tell she’s trying to tease him, but she’s wearing an off the shoulder shirt today and now that her hair is up he can see that her shoulder blade is decorated with two koi fish. They look painted with watercolour though it’s obviously a tattoo. He reaches out and draws his finger around the curve of one of the fish, marvelling at the artistry of it.

She turns to look at him over her shoulder. “Hello?”

“You didn’t tell me you had a tattoo.”

“Oh.” She laughs, the sound a soft tinkly one. “Right. I forget it’s there.”

“It’s so pretty.” He gets almost lost in it, in staring at it. “How did you get it to do that?” 

“It’s a watercolour painting,” she says. “I designed it myself, but the skill of making it a permanent part of me belongs to the tattoo artist.” 

“Did it hurt?” 

“Like bloody hell,” she says. “But it’s worth it. It shows my roots on my skin. Plus, yes, it’s quite pretty.”

He laughs and pulls his hand away. He suddenly realizes how strange and intimate the touch was, but she doesn’t seem bothered. “I’d like a tattoo one day, I think.” 

She hands him a plastic palette already prepped with paints. “Show me what your tattoo would be.” 

“Oh, god.” He’s horrified at the thought. “That’s a punishment. I’m awful at drawing!” 

She laughs. “Alright, give me… an abstract concept of what it could be.” 

“But I’m not committing to immortalizing this?” 

“Nowhere but on the canvas,” she says. 

He thinks suddenly of all the things his father made - immortalized on canvases over the years. He wishes he had something, one of the proper pieces framed and hung at home. He hadn’t even thought to ask his mum to take anything of his dad’s with him. It still seemed wrong that his dad wouldn’t be around anymore to own his own belongings. 

But he wishes he had just one painting to hang in his own room. He finds himself near tears suddenly and inexplicably. Maybe the hangover is fucking him up more than he thought. 

Stevie puts a hand on his back, warm and solid. He loves her hands, which he realizes is maybe a bit weird, and maybe Dan coming to the assumption that he has feelings for her isn’t so ridiculous after all, because if he had even a drop of heterosexuality in him, he probably would. As it is, he doesn’t, but he definitely has a love for this woman that surprises him with its insistence. They’ve hardly known each other a month, but he just… he just loves her. He loves her round face and her almond eyes and her ridiculous carpet of dark shiny hair. He loves the various utensils she always uses to keep that hair off her face and her artist’s hands and the way she always seems so goddamn sure of herself. He loves that she tries to give some of that to him, even if she hasn’t succeeded at it yet. 

“What is it, Phil?” she asks softly, rubbing little circles on his shoulder blade.

He exhales shakily, smiling in an attempt to mask his own emotional volatility. “I miss my dad.”

“Do you want to talk about him? Tell me about him?”

Phil thinks about it, but only for a moment. Talking would mean crying, and crying would mean exacerbating a headache that’s already clawing at his sanity. “I don’t think I’m mentally stable enough for that,” he admits. 

“Shall we paint, then?”

He nods. “Mine’s just gonna be indiscriminate colours. I’ll never be brave enough to get a tattoo, and even if I was, I wouldn’t know what to get.”

“That’s alright, mon chou.” She gives the back of his neck a little squeeze. “You are brave, but you don’t need to get a tattoo to prove it.”

He smiles at her, his eyes swimming. “Merci beaucoup.”

She smiles back. “Your accent is terrible.”

“I know. It’s endearing though, yeah?”

“It is.”

He dips his paint in the prettiest shade of blue on the palette. “I think I wanna add it to the list.”

“What? Improving your French?”

He huffs a laugh. “No. Getting a tattoo.”

“I’ll do that,” she says, getting up and heading out of the studio and into the shop.

He makes another decision. This one quiet, just for himself. He’s going to ring his mum. He’s going to ask her to send him some of his dad’s paintings in the post if she ever comes home from Florida.

When she comes back, she’s got something in her hand. He doesn’t have to wonder for long what it is, because as soon as she sits down, she’s handing it to him, pressing the cool metal of a key into his palm. 

“Am I getting promoted?” he teases. 

“You like it here, don’t you?” she asks. It’s a genuine question.

“Yes,” Phil says, his throat going a bit tight. “I do. A lot. Feels like… like home, somehow. Home away from home.”

She nods. “I can see it.”

“You can. You see everything.” Phil smiles. “It’s terrifying.”

“Sometimes I come here at night,” she tells him. “After Théo’s gone to bed, when the streets are dark and quiet and my mind still wants to be loud. They’re not always my best paintings, but it’s cheaper than therapy. Works better, too.”

He tilts his head. He’d never spared a moment to consider that she’d need therapy or anything like it. He’s not sure he’s ever met someone who seemed more at peace with themselves and their life. 

He’s sure it’s not the last time she’ll remind him how casually ignorant he can be.

“I want you to have that, too,” she says. “So now you have a key. You can come here whenever you want.”

Phil looks down at the glint of silver in the studio lights. “Are you serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

He closes his fist over the key. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I think the words you’re looking for are thank you, mon cher.”

He nods. He swallows over the lump in his throat and croaks out a thank you.

She puts her hand on his back again. “You’ll be okay, Phil. You’re going to make it.”

-

They spend the rest of the afternoon mixing colors and making a mess then quietly cleaning up. Laughter and time ease the throbbing in his temples, leaving him with bones a bit more tired than they should be, a mind a bit less sharp. 

“Now remember, mon chou,” she says as they part, waving a warning finger. “No raves tonight.” 

Phil groans. “No alcohol again,” he swears. “ _Ever_.”

“Sure, sure.” She fondly squeezes his shoulder then takes off in the opposite direction, light breeze sending her hair swaying. 

He smiles watching her go for a moment, then puts one foot after another on his own way home. 

-

As soon as he walks into the flat his nose leads the way into the kitchen. 

Dan stands there making dinner, neatly chopping carrots with a gleaming blade. He glances up when Phil comes in, nodding and looking back down in a way that feels like a smile though Dan’s mouth hasn’t moved. 

“Where’s Adrian?” Phil asks. “Do you need an alibi? Because I have to warn you, I’m an awful liar.” 

Dan does smile at that, chuckling a bit. “No alibi. He’s asleep. His flight out is at five in the morning so I think he’s leaving at half two or some sort of hour where it should be illegal to have to leave your flat.” 

Phil scrunches his face up. “Oof. That sounds awful.” 

“Truly.” Dan takes the cutting board full of carrots and dumps them into a pot on the stove. “Fancy a curry? Howell speciality.” 

“Sounds fancy.” 

“Not really,” Dan says. “The speciality is just that I dump whatever the fuck I have in the fridge into it then chuck a tin of tomatoes and some curry powder in with it.” 

“I’m not picky about things I don’t have to cook,” Phil says. He doesn’t even really mind that it’s vegan - he’s found that outside of pizza, Dan’s vegan choices usually aren’t bad. “Can I do anything?” 

“Start some water boiling for the rice?” Dan suggests. 

Water boiling - a task that Phil can actually do. 

“Sorry about this morning.” Dan tips a bag of frozen peas into the pot. “And yesterday. I know that was awkward as fuck.” 

Phil shrugs. “S’fine.”

“I don’t mean to be mean to him. I don’t mean to pick fights. He just gets under my fucking skin.”

“I get it,” Phil says, putting a pot under the tap and turning the water on. “I heard a bit of what he was saying about therapy and medication, and…” He’s not sure how to finish that sentence.

Dan laughs bitterly. “He thinks he cured his depression eating kale and running marathons. He thinks I should be able to do the same.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice comes out weaker than he intends.

Dan looks at him, and Phil looks away. These things are harder to talk about without a bellyful of booze. 

“It’s fine,” Dan says. “Phil.”

Phil looks back over. 

“It’s fine,” Dan says again. 

Phil nods. “Yeah. Sorry. I feel off today.” He turns the water off and puts the pot on the stove. “Hangovers are a real bitch when you’re into your thirties.”

“Wait.” Dan turns so his whole body is facing Phil’s. “Mate. You’re in your thirties?”

“Are you not?”

“I’m twenty eight.” He leans his hip against the side of the stove. “How old are you?”

Phil winces. “Thirty three?”

“Oh. Huh.” Dan seems to be processing that information. “You look good for thirty three.” 

Phil isn’t sure if he should be focusing on the _you look good_ part or the _for thirty three_ part more. He decides for neither and says, “But don’t worry, I still have the aimlessness and lack of life plan of a twenty year old.” 

Dan actually responds to that with a proper laugh. “Wow, too real. Don’t at me like that, bro.” 

“I did think I had my life together,” Phil says, after a pause. “Before - well. A few years ago.” 

“Then something changed?” 

Phil thinks of how much Dan shared with him last night over drinks and even just now in the walls of their now-fragrant kitchen. “I used to be a video editor for an insurance firm.” He can’t remember if he’s told Dan that already or not, but it is the natural place to start from either way, he figures. “And then I went part time there and started helping my dad out with the family business.” 

He doesn’t say why he needed to help out. He’s not ready to confide quite that much. 

“Is the family business interesting?” 

Phil shakes his head. “Dead boring.” 

“I’ve had some dead boring jobs too,” Dan says. “Work experience before going into law.” He shudders visibly. Phil thinks it’s a very appropriate reaction. 

“I worked at WH Smith for like, five minutes. Then a middle aged lady threw a chocolate orange at my head and I never went back.”

Dan snorts. “Serious?”

Phil nods. “It’s mental how much people take out their frustrations on retail employees.”

“I sold an axe to a child once.”

Phil blinks. “What?”

“I may have been a touch hungover. Teenage Dan was an absolute dumpster fire of a human being. You think I’m bad now…” He turns back to the pot of food and slowly stirs it.

“I don’t actually.”

“What?”

“I don’t think you’re bad now,” Phil says, and he knows he’s being far more earnest than the moment calls for, but he also doesn’t like the way Dan’s face went sad when he said what he said.

The water is boiling now, droplets spilling out over the edge of the pot and sizzling when they hit the burner. “Can you grab the rice?” Dan asks, and Phil reckons it's best not to push any further. Dan doesn’t know how to accept compliments. He doesn’t know how to act in the face of kindness. Phil knows this. But it doesn’t mean he’s going to stop being kind. 

It actually kind of breaks his heart to think that in twenty eight years of being alive, Dan hasn’t been shown enough of it to react with anything but suspicion and discomfort. 

Phil grabs the rice from the cupboard and hands it to Dan. “I was the mousiest, nerdiest kid imaginable,” Phil says. “If that helps.”

Dan dumps some rice in the pot and turns the heat down to low before his eyes flick over in Phil’s direction. “I find that hard to believe.”

Phil is pulled up short. “You do?”

Dan shrugs.

“Why?” Phil presses. “Because I’m such a cool person now?”

Dan rolls his eyes. “Shut up. I take it back. I’m sure you were a huge loser.”

“I wouldn’t say _that_ ,” Phil says, hopping up backwards onto the counter to watch Dan cook. Stevie is rubbing off on him, apparently. “I was kind of dorky and awkward, but I dunno. I never thought I was a _loser_.”

“Ah,” Dan murmurs, not quite managing to keep a hint of a smile off his face. “You’re one of those annoying people with self esteem.”

“You can’t tell me you were ever uncool,” Phil says.

Dan cocks an eyebrow. “You think I’m cool?”

“We’ve been over this. Do I need to list all your good qualities again?” 

“God.” Dan laughs a little. “Please, please don’t.” He looks at Phil, and then Phil’s heart is somersaulting in his chest as Dan steps in towards him and reaches his arm out like he’s going to wrap it around the back of Phil’s neck. He stops breathing for a moment. He can smell Dan’s body wash.

But then Dan is reaching _past_ him, shutting the cupboard door behind Phil’s head, the cupboard door Phil must have left open after he grabbed down the rice. 

“Don’t need any more concussions in this house, do we?” Dan says.

Phil exhales noisily. He’s sure his cheeks have gone pink and he wishes he had a way to disguise that fact. He can feel the heat of the blood pooling under his skin at his own ridiculousness. “Oops,” he mutters. “Sorry.”

“I think I’ve moved on to the acceptance phase,” Dan says. “You’re never going to close cupboard doors or put your socks where they belong.”

“I try!” Phil says meekly, though the internal narrator in his head is already confirming that he does not, in fact, try. 

-

They eat dinner together sat on the sofa, the volume down low on the television. The curry is delicious, just as Phil suspected it would be. 

Dan looks… tired, Phil thinks. What he says is, “I should go to bed.”

Dan looks over at him, face not revealing much. “This early?” 

They’ve only watched two episodes. 

Phil shrugs. “It was a very long, hungover day.” 

Dan laughs. “Yeah. But work was okay, right?” 

“It was,” Phil says. He thinks about Stevie, about their conversations, about the strange emotions she manages to pull out with him. “I lucked out there.” 

“It’s good. It’s good when that happens. Think you’d ever want to go back to video editing? I mean, it’s what you studied, right? You must have liked it at some point?” 

Phil actually doesn’t know the answer to that, which surprises him. “Maybe,” he says, and Dan leaves it alone. “It was fun back in uni. All… making horror films with my housemates and learning how the editing bay works.” 

Dan smiles. He really does look tired. “Well, maybe one day I’ll be writing a review of the latest Lester arthouse slasher film.” 

“I think my style would be more Blumhouse than arthouse,” Phil says, smiling back. “But thanks. Anyway, I’m actually gonna sleep now. Give you your bed for the night.” 

Dan yawns and doesn’t fight him this time. 

Once Phil’s done brushing his teeth and between the sheets of his own bed he turns Dan’s words over in his mind. 

He already feels comfortable admitting to himself that he got his second degree mostly just to delay being part of the real world for an extra year, but he did enjoy it. He also enjoyed that he got a job not too long after leaving uni, that he never really had to worry about money and that the life he built felt… alright. Stable, at least.

That’s the word for it, he thinks. Most of his twenties just felt stable. Like he lived in a nice little bubble where he did the sorts of things he was supposed to. Drinks with co-workers he’d never had much in common with. Hanging out with Ian and Lauren on the weekends once or twice a month. Visits home regularly to let his mum ply him with puddings and share a meal over the table with them. 

He rolls over again and remembers his thirtieth birthday. The cancer hadn’t come back yet then, at least not that they knew about. Ben was home with him - always happy to have some of Kath’s cake, speaking with Nigel in the sort of warm familiarity that comes from growing up with them adjacent to his life. 

That felt stable, too. It felt like something he didn’t need to worry about because when he did feel that deep pull to make it more permanent, it would always be an option. He’s not sure he ever stopped to think if maybe it wasn’t supposed to work like that. Maybe that the lack of pull to make it serious meant something significant, that it was more than just a pleasant sense of inevitability. 

He misses so much of that life with a fierceness that chokes the breath out of him, but he thinks of how it feels to be beside Stevie in the studio with a brush in his hand. That doesn’t feel inevitable. It’s not something he took the careful path of training and learning and work experience and interviewing in a suit and tie that didn’t quite fit. He’s tripped arse first into this new life and it’s scary. It’s… 

The word comes to him: _exciting._

This life isn’t stable. It’s not predictable. It’s often not entirely comfortable, either. But it’s exciting in a way nothing has been before.


	14. Chapter 14

*

*

Phil stands in front of the bathroom mirror. 

His hands - and the rest of him, really - are a bit jittery. He’s been stood in front of the damn mirror so long that the steam from his irresponsibly long hot shower has long since filtered out of the room.

It smells like chemicals in here, the kind he used to dump in his hair every six weeks or so to make it extra black and shiny. The kind he’d spontaneously decided he wanted a return to. He leans forward to get a closer look at the skin around his hairline, checking for the umpteenth time that there aren’t any lingering dye stains. There aren’t, just as there weren’t the last two times he checked, but he’s feeling more than a little anxious.

He’s seeing Ben today. In about an hour, actually. They’re meeting at a Starbucks just a ten minute walk from Phil’s flat. 

Phil stares at his reflection.

His hair is perfect. As perfect as he has the capacity to make it anyway. He’d gotten it cut a few days ago, he’s dyed it, he’s used his favourite sea salt spray and gotten his quiff just exactly how he likes it. He feels like he looks more like himself. The natural look had been fine, but going back to black feels like a good decision now that he’s looking at it. 

He’s shaved meticulously. Whatever shadow remains on his upper lip is one that he’ll never be rid of, no matter how many times he swipes the razor over his face. He even put some lightly cologned moisturizer on afterwards.

He steps back so he can get more of a look at the rest of him. He’s wearing a dark blue shirt buttoned all the way up to his neck. He keeps undoing the top button, staring, then re-buttoning it. He’s come to the conclusion that he’s never going to come to a conclusion. He can’t tell what looks better, and he’s been obsessing so long that he’s about thirty seconds away from tearing the sodding thing off and texting Ben to say something’s come up and he won’t be able to make it. 

It’s not like any of this matters, and he knows that. Ben knows what he looks like. It’s been a little while, but not enough time for his appearance to have changed in any dramatic sort of way. And even if it had, it still wouldn’t matter. Phil doesn’t want him back. That’s not what this is. 

He scoffs at himself and tears his eyes away from his own reflected image. He’s starting to hate what looks back at him, which isn’t like him. He’s just getting too into his own head, which is always a bad idea. He hangs up the towels he’d let crumple in a heap on the floor after drying off.

He’s just dabbing a bit of cologne behind his ear when there’s a knock on the door.

“Mate, are you dead in there? I need a wee.”

Phil’s not proud of the startled little yelp that escapes his mouth, or the way his heart rate skyrockets in embarrassment as he quickly pulls the door open.

“Sorry,” he mutters, “Just—” He cuts himself off at the way Dan is looking at him. “What?”

“You look…”

Phil can feel his pulse in the tips of his fingers. 

“Fancy,” Dan finishes.

Phil looks down at himself. “Do I?”

Dan is still looking at him. Staring, more like. “Your hair is black.”

Phil reaches back to rub at the buzzed bit near the nape of his neck. “Yeah.”

“What’s the occasion?”

He’s too frazzled to think of a lie. “I’m, uh. I’m meeting up with my ex.”

Dan’s face does another thing that Phil can’t parse. “Shit.”

“Yeah.” He pulls out his phone to check the time even though he knows exactly what time it is already. “I’ve gotta go, actually.”

Dan nods curtly, stepping out of the way to let Phil through. “Well, good luck.”

“Thanks.” He takes a step out of the bathroom and then hesitates. “Um… can I get your advice on something?”

Dan snorts. “Guarantee your own dating advice is gonna be better than mine, mate.”

“No, that’s not— We’re not dating. Anymore. I’m not—” He shakes his head. “I just—” He gestures to the open button at the top of his shirt, then buttons it up. “Open or closed?”

Dan tilts his head, a tiny crease forming between his brows. “Undo it again.”

Phil does, hoping the tremor in his fingers isn’t too conspicuous. He immediately wishes he hadn’t asked, because something about having Dan’s eyes trained on him like this, in such close proximity and with a critical gaze makes him feel weirdly hot all over.

“Closed,” Dan says. 

“Yeah?” He’s already fumbling to button it back up.

Dan watches him do it, then says, “Yeah. Definitely.”

\- 

Ben’s already there when Phil walks in. He’s sat at a table in the corner, and Phil would recognize that messy mop of sandy blonde hair anywhere. 

There are two drinks in front of him. Phil’s stomach twists. He’s sure that’s his, piled high with whipped cream and drizzled with caramel. 

His own voice sounds husky and warm when he speaks. “Hello, there.” 

Ben’s head jerks up and his face breaks into a wide grin. “Phil!” 

He stands and then they’re hugging. Phil leans into it, grasps on tight; god, Ben gives the best hugs. Tight and squishy and he smells… not familiar, really, Ben’s always changing up his aftershave, his cologne. He likes to try new scents out. So Phil doesn’t recognize this one, just that it’s nice. 

They let go and both sit back down. “Mine?” Phil asks, just to be polite. 

Ben’s still grinning. “No, tosser, I ordered it for my imaginary friend.” 

“Ooh.” Phil grins back. “Is he fit?” 

“Yeah,” Ben says. “Got a seventeen pack and a twelve inch dick. Ace all around.” 

“Size queen,” Phil shoots at him. 

“Wouldn’t you know it.” Ben winks. 

Phil snorts his laughter and takes a drink. Wouldn’t he, indeed. 

“It’s good to see you,” he says, swallowing down a mouth full of espresso and sweetness. 

“It’s good to see you, too,” Ben says. He eyes Phil up and down - not salaciously, just like he wants to get a proper look. “London looks good on you.” 

Phil shrugs a bit. “Does it?” 

“Sure,” Ben says. “Is it not? Good on you?” 

“Oh, it’s…” Phil stops. “I dunno. It’s fine, I guess.”

It’s more than fine. He’s not sure why it feels strange to say that to Ben, though. 

Ben isn’t scrutinizing him, though, isn’t studying Phil to see if he’s being honest or not. Ben’s always been easygoing like that. He doesn’t ask more than Phil offers, about feelings or… anything. 

“How about you?” Phil asks. “How have you been?” 

“I met someone.”

Easygoing, he is. And blunt.

Maybe blunt is the wrong word. It implies a sort of negative connotation. There’s nothing negative about Ben telling Phil he’s met someone. It’s just… a surprise.

“Oh yeah?” Phil says, eyebrows climbing up into the middle of his forehead. 

“Yeah.” Ben takes a drink of his coffee. “I’ve been wanting to tell you, but— Wanted to do it in person I, guess.”

“Is it new?” He’s just asking the first question that pops into his mind. 

“We’ve been dating for a while. The exclusivity is new.”

“Proper boyfriend, then?” Phil asks. “Not imaginary?”

Ben laughs. “Not imaginary. Proper boyfriend.”

“That’s brilliant.”

He says it before he knows he means it, but the more Ben talks, the more he comes to realize that it’s actually how he feels. 

It _is_ brilliant. Ben looks happy. He’s smiling and cracking jokes left and right, reaching across the table to squeeze Phil’s arm once or twice. Filling Phil in on how his life has been going this past year, playfully ribbing Phil any and every way he can think of. Like they’re teenagers again. Like all the time they spent together wasn’t wasted at all, because they’re friends, in the end. 

Phil keeps waiting to feel jealous, or sad, or anything he thinks might make sense for learning the closest thing he’s ever had to a proper boyfriend has fully moved on. But the feelings never come. All he feels is relieved. And happy. 

Then Ben says, “This is nice, innit? That we didn’t let it change anything?”

Phil smiles. “Yeah. I think it is.”

“I don’t think it goes this way for most people.”

“I wouldn’t really know,” Phil says, kicking at Ben’s foot. “You’re my only ex.”

“And you’re mine. But it doesn’t even really feel like that, does it? To you?”

Phil shrugs. 

“How are you, Phil?” Ben asks. “For real.” He has such nice green eyes. They’re looking at Phil properly now. 

Phil lets out a long breath. “I’m… I dunno.” He pushes his glasses up where they’ve started to slip down his nose. “Most days are alright. Some are… hard.”

Ben nods. “Even I miss the old guy.”

Phil smiles, nodding. “Sometimes it still doesn’t feel real.”

Ben doesn’t say anything, giving Phil space to feel what he’s feeling and decide how to put it to words. 

“I think London is good,” Phil says. “I didn’t want to leave Manchester, but… I dunno. I think I’m better here.”

“You seem better,” Ben says. 

“Was I that bad before?” Phil asks. 

Ben shrugs. His coffee is mostly gone. They’ve been talking a while. “Yeah, I mean. Yeah. It felt like you just sort of… disappeared into yourself, you know? Like you weren’t really there when before you always had been.” 

“There was a lot going on,” Phil says weakly. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no.” Ben waves his hand at Phil to stop him talking. “I don’t mean just with me. It’s just, all of us worried, you know? Ian kept us filling in on you, it’s the only reason we weren’t all beating down your door six months ago.” 

“Ian’s a bloody gossip,” Phil says. “But I guess I’m glad for it. This time.” 

He really does mean it. He doesn’t think he’d have reacted well to all those people barging into his home or his life. Even now it makes me feel a bit anxious. 

“So, London.” Ben looks around like the coffee shop itself is somehow representative of the entire city. “Thought you hated London?” 

Phil shrugs. “I did as a kid. But it turns out when you’re tall enough to see around people’s legs it’s not that bad.” 

“Nice flat?” 

“Nice enough. My flatmate - Dan - he’s pretty great, actually.” 

“Fit?” Ben asks immediately. 

Phil throws a napkin at him. “Put it back in your pants, you’ve got a boyfriend!” 

“But I’ve still got eyes!” Ben protests, laughing. 

“Yeah,” Phil says. “He is fit. But he’s straight.” 

Ben makes a sad womping noise. “All the best ones are. Present company excluded, of course.” 

Phil tips his coffee up. “Agreed.” 

-

He and Ben sit at the shop another hour, ordering muffins just so they have an excuse to keep taking up the table as the cafe around them grows busier. 

He doesn’t want to go. It’s a good catch up, a proper one. His chest aches from laughing and something in his heart feels settled and happy. 

Ben’s a good guy. He deserves someone who makes him happy. Phil couldn’t be that person, at least not consistently, and it would seem they’re both at peace with that fact. They’re both working towards their own happiness now, and it feels nice. It feels adult, really. 

They’re in the beginning stages of wrapping up their get together when Phil feels a buzz in his pocket. He considers ignoring it, but then it buzzes again and curiosity gets the better of him, and when his and Ben’s conversation hits a natural pause, he pulls his mobile out to check.

It’s from Dan. Actually, there are a number of messages from Dan. Phil must have been too nervous earlier to take any notice.

_you absolute tit monkey there are little black specks all over the bloody shower walls you’re cleaning this up when you get home and if it stains you’ll be the one to explain it to the landlord he’s scary and i’m too young to die you’ve lived a good long life old man i’m not taking the fall for you i hope it was worth it_

Phil can’t help smiling. Dan’s text etiquette is fairly horrendous, what with his aversion to any sort of grammar or punctuation. Phil has to read it out loud just to understand, mouthing the words under his breath.

The second text reads: _mate i hope you know that if you’re bringing someone back here i’m not leaving like i know i’m probably supposed to offer that but i’ve got a review to write that’s due at midnight and i can’t focus at coffee shops and shit i always just get distracted by people watching and i need this paycheck to pay rent which affects you too so like if you’re gonna be fucking here later i’m gonna hear it just warning you_

Phil’s smile shifts a little. It’s not like Dan never texts him, but the messages aren’t usually so long and rambly. If Phil didn’t know better, he’d think Dan was feeling weird about Phil being out with a potential hookup partner.

Maybe it’s just because Phil hasn’t done that at all in the time that they’ve known each other. Phil reckons he’d feel a little weird too if the shoe was on the other foot.

There are two more messages, the ones Phil actually felt the notifications for. _look i know you’re on a date but if you’re at a place with good food/coffee i wouldn’t be mad about you bringing me home some_

_also i lied about having a review due i just really don’t wanna go out the agoraphobia vibes are strong today sorry_

Phil’s smile is back full force as he returns his phone to his pocket. He looks up to see Ben staring at him with an eyebrow raised.

“What?” Phil asks.

“You said you weren’t seeing anyone.”

Phil is mildly taken aback. “I’m not.”

“Mate.”

“I’m not!” he insists. “That was just my flatmate.”

“Dan.”

“Yeah, Dan.”

“The really fit bloke you share a small flat with.” Ben’s tone is deadpan. 

“I never said _really_ fit. And anyway, I also said he’s straight.”

“Tell that to your giant fucking smile, idiot.”

“Oh shut up.” He tries desperately hard to be dismissive, but his heart is beating a little bit faster now. “Sue me for thinking he’s funny.”

“Falling for straight guys is such a rookie move, Phil.”

“There’s no falling!” Phil half shouts.

Ben just laughs at him. 

-

Ben indulges him in another long tight hug on the pavement outside the shop before they part ways. Phil lets it linger longer than he probably should for a guy who’s seen him naked and is now properly committed to someone else, but it doesn’t mean anything more than just the affection he feels for a person he’s now completely sure he keeps to keep as a friend forever. They promise to keep in touch and meet up whenever they happen to be in the same city. 

Phil watches him walk away, then heads back into the shop to buy Dan a coffee and a muffin. 

-

When Phil gets back to the flat, Dan is sat on the sofa with his laptop on his thighs. He’s wearing jeans that are ripped at the knees and a fuzzy black jumper and his curls are more defined than Phil’s ever seen them. He tries not to read too much into the fact that Dan never dresses like this unless he’s making a point of leaving the apartment. 

He plonks the coffee and the pastry bag down on the coffee table.

Dan looks up at him. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

Phil shrugs. “I’m nice.”

“Where’s your date?” Dan asks, looking around like he actually expects someone to be there.

Phil rolls his eyes. “I told you, it wasn’t like that. It was just catching up.” He collapses into the end of the sofa Dan’s not occupying.

“Cheers,” Dan says, leaning over his laptop to pick up the coffee. He takes a sip and relaxes back into the cushion. “So. How’d it go?”

Phil tilts his head back, resting it on the back of the couch. He smiles. “Good.” And then, “It was really nice to see him.”

It wasn’t a conscious decision, but there’s no panic after he’s said it. It feels right. He turns his head to see what kind of reaction Dan’s going to have.

Dan looks satisfyingly shaken, eyes a bit wide, trained intensely on Phil’s face. “Him?”

“Yeah,” Phil says. “Him.”

“That’s… good.” Dan looks back at his laptop, staring at the screen even though it’s gone black now. 

“Yeah.” Phil keeps going, partially because it just feels nice to talk to someone and he knows Ian would be busy at the shop. His other option is Gerald, who is undoubtedly a good listener, but… Dan’s right here, right now and part of him wants to see if he’ll get any more response from Dan. “He’s got a boyfriend now, he’s seeing someone. Not that… I mean, even if he weren’t, we wouldn’t have come back here, or… gone anywhere. It’s not - it’s done between us, I think. Like, properly done.” 

“You seem to be taking that well,” Dan says. “Were you with him long?” 

Phil shrugs. He still doesn’t even know the answer to that. “Off and on,” he says. “For most of our twenties.” 

“Wow. I mean, that’s a long time, mate.” Dan finally looks at him. 

Phil’s relieved at the lack of judgement. The lack of disgust. He won’t be booted from the flat for liking guys. His final lingering fear about Dan as a flatmate can be put to rest. 

“I guess.” Phil wiggles his bum to get more comfortable, then realizes the problem is really that he’s indoors in his own flat and still wearing normal clothes. 

It’s quite unlike him, and once he’s aware of it he realizes how much better some nice comfy sweats would feel. 

He gets to his feet. 

Dan’s head snaps up. “Where are you going?” 

“Change into something comfier, if that’s alright?” Phil’s teasing, mostly just curious at the strange way Dan’s acting. He must not have slept well, Phil reckons. 

“Oh, yeah, I just… you know. Since you’re not busy getting busy—” Forced laughter from Dan at his own attempt at a joke. “Maybe we can hang? Unless you have other plans.” 

“No other plans.” Phil smiles, the real kind that he knows makes his eyes crinkle up. He hasn’t decided if he’s alright with laughter lines or not. “But I do want to change.” 

“Yeah, of course.” Dan relaxes back into the couch again. 

When he gets to his room, Phil allows a look at himself in the mirror above his new wardrobe as he fishes out some sweatpants. He’s not a narcissist by any means, but he reckons he really does look okay today. Now that he’s not anxious about much of anything, he can admit it to himself. He’d missed the black. And Dan was right, the shirt looks nice buttoned all the way to his neck.

Not that Dan had actually used that word, of course. Nice. Phil can’t imagine that, a compliment from his flatmate about his physical appearance, especially not now that his queerness is out in the open.

It’s almost strange how it doesn’t feel strange. He’d made such a big deal of it in his head over the weeks since he moved in that the reality of the moment feels like an anticlimax. 

He reconsiders that assessment when he gets back to the lounge and Dan’s eyes are on him again, disconcertingly attentive. His feet are up on the coffee table, legs bent at the knees, knees of which Phil can see the bare skin through the rips in the black denim. It shouldn’t look as attractive as it does. They’re just knees. 

Dan closes his laptop and puts it on the coffee table. “Hey,” he says.

Maybe this isn’t an anticlimax after all. 

“Hi.” Phil has the urge to pull the hood of his York sweater up over his head. “How’s your coffee?”

“Oh.” Dan looks at the cup in his hand like he’d forgotten it was there. He takes a sip. “Good, yeah. Thanks.”

“Sure.” He sits, folding one of his legs up underneath him. “Muffin’s good, too. You should eat it before it goes stale.”

“Your hair looks good,” Dan blurts. 

So Phil was wrong about a lot of things. “Oh, uh. The black?”

Dan nods.

“Thanks.” He shifts a little, somehow no more comfortable in his most lived in clothes than he was in his fanciest. “Yours does too.” He gestures to Dan’s head. “You’ve got pig’s tails.”

That seems to snap Dan back into his actual personality. His mouth drops open in indignation. “Excuse me?”

“The curls! They’re like little pig’s tails.”

“I’m going to shave my head.”

“No.” Phil laughs. “It’s such pretty hair, don’t shave it off.”

“I should come up with the least flattering way to describe yours,” Dan grumbles, though that little spot of pink is practically glowing on his jaw. “Like… crow feathers, or octopus ink or some shit.”

Phil sucks his teeth. “I dunno. Still think that sounds kind of cool.”

“Ugh.” Dan takes a long drink of his coffee, then reaches for his muffin. “Shut up.”

“So,” Phil says, chuckling a little under his breath. “What are we doing?”

“Huh?” Dan’s got a mouthful of muffin.

“You said you wanted to hang.”

“Oh.” He swallows. “Uh. Is it too boring if I say movie?”

“I never get bored of movies,” Phil says. “I would think you’d be more likely to do that, seeing as how it’s your job and all.”

Dan shakes his head. “We need to make our way down the list, remember? Films Dan Has Not Seen?”

“Ooh, yes,” Phil says, instantly enthusiastic. Then he has a thought.

List. He’d almost forgotten the one he’d made with Dan. He hasn’t forgotten the one he’s been trying to make with someone else.

“I need to ring Stevie first.”

Dan cocks an eyebrow. 

Phil doesn’t feel like admitting that Dan was on his list. And that today he’s going to get crossed off. “Nothing big,” he assures. “You pick the film, I’ll just be a sec.”

He goes to his room and sits on the edge of the bed with his mobile pressed to his ear. 

Stevie answers with a, “Please don’t tell me you’re calling in sick for tomorrow.”

“I’m not,” Phil promises. “I actually think you’re going to be quite proud of me.”

“I’m always proud of you, mon chou.”

He smiles up at his ceiling. “You’re too nice to me, you know that, right?”

“Théo says I’m too nice to everyone.”

“I’m not complaining,” Phil assures. “I just don’t get it. I never even did anything to earn it.”

“I guess I prefer to assume people deserve to be treated nicely and not the other way around.”

“I agree,” Phil says. “Does that make us optimists?”

“I think so.” She sounds like she’s smiling. “Just a couple of softies.”

“I came out to Dan.”

“Oh, Phil.” She sounds emotional. She sounds like she wants to say more but she’s too caught up in all that pride Phil had been anticipating.

“Stevie,” he says, fond and teasing. “You cannot be crying right now.”

She sniffles, laughing wetly. “Oh shut up. Tell me everything.”

Phil laughs. “I will. Tomorrow, though. Dan’s actually waiting on me now, we’re going to watch a film.” 

“A cinema date already?” Stevie sounds shocked but - maybe not as shocked as she should be. 

“No!” Phil says. “A staying in on the sofa in our pajamas watching a film on VHS date.” 

“Mon chou, you realize that sounds more intimate not less, correct?” 

“... shut up,” Phil mumbles through his laughter. “It’s not a date, trust me.”

“Well, you’ll tell me all about it tomorrow,” she says, and they hang up. 

-

They watch The Matrix and Phil spends half the movie looking over at Dan to see his reactions, the noises of surprise at things he didn’t expect to happen and the sounds of excitement. 

“Alright, this is like, the most unrealistic thing ever—” 

“That’s the point,” Phil says. 

“Right, and also, it’s fucking cool.” Dan looks more like a kid than Phil’s ever seen him, unabashedly enjoying the film. 

They stay quiet again until it’s over. 

“Fuck,” Dan says, voice exploding through the room as the credits start to roll. He pauses it and Phil watches the jumping and flickering of a tape in stasis. “Alright, that made up for the horrendous problematic mess that was Back to the Future.” 

Phil laughs, not even bothering to defend Doc Brown. “Right?”

“We have to watch the rest of them,” Dan says. 

“They’re not quite as good,” Phil admits. Then he dredges up some more bravery and adds, “But we can still watch them. I mean, Keanu’s face makes it worth it.” 

He sees Dan take a fraction of a beat but then he smoothly responds, “I mean, can’t argue with that face, I guess.” 

He’s sure Dan’s just trying to be supportive and Phil finds himself appreciating it a lot. He smiles and says, “We’ve got loads of time, do you have the second one on VHS too?” 

“I’ll grab it, you get us some snacks?” Dan asks. “If we’re doing two we’re also doing three.” 

“Deal,” Phil says, and watches Dan walk into the bedroom before he gets up to go fetch some crisps. 

This is exactly how he wants to spend the rest of his day.


	15. Chapter 15

*

*

He wakes up feeling heavy.

There’s no inciting incident. He didn’t have trouble sleeping. He didn’t have bad dreams. Things are going well for him.

He’s just… sad. From the moment he opens his eyes to an overcast grey London sky outside his window, there’s an emptiness in his chest, a painful awareness of the thing - the person - that’s missing in his life.

These days are fewer and further between than they used to be, but they still happen. Sometimes it hits him like a sledgehammer, sometimes it’s just a dull ache.

Today he’s aching. Today the knowledge that he’ll never hear his dad’s laugh again, that he’ll never get a chance to tell him about Stevie or Dan or London or— or _anything_ , not ever again - it hurts. It hurts so goddamn badly.

He tries not to wallow in it. He goes to work, orders fancy tea lattes for him and Stevie, paints a bad impression of a Bob Ross landscape. He texts Ian and Ben and buys a truckload of sweets at the shop near his flat on the way home, then plays a solid hour and a half of video games while he eats them.

He tries, he really does. But the day is grey and his heart is heavy, and Dan hasn’t come out of his room. He must be working on something for a deadline. Or maybe he’s having a day like Phil. Sometimes he does. He’s been pretty open about that, about his constant struggle to get a leg up on a mental illness that would see him isolated and self hating if it had its way.

Phil could use the company, but he doesn’t have the courage to knock on Dan’s door knowing that there’s a very real chance he could be rejected. Even a polite one would probably feel like something murky and grave today, so he walks past Dan’s room to his own, kicking the door closed behind him and flopping down backwards onto his bed. The light is turned off but it’s still late afternoon. The sun is still high enough in the sky to illuminate his room in shades of monochrome, and his eyes are drawn to the corner by the wardrobe, the corner that still holds the last of the boxes that Phil hasn’t unpacked yet.

The photo albums. Books filled with pictures of a family that will never quite be whole again.

He’s not sure why he sometimes manages to forget they even exist, and other times it’s like they take up every inch of space in the room. It’s worse than a monster under his bed.

Today they loom so large he really can’t ignore them at all, can he? So he gets up and crosses the room and folds his long legs down until he’s sat on the floor like a child. He opens one box and pulls out the first album.

He recognizes it immediately, a buttery yellow cover with little flowers on it. Surely his mum picked it out. It’s old and soft from frequent wear over the years. He can’t count on two hands the number of times he made his mum or dad sit and tell him every story behind every photograph. He just liked to hear them talk about him.

He flips it open to a random page. It’s a series of pictures of him and Martyn all dressed up in snow gear, though there’s barely a covering of white on the ground.

He turns to another page, further into the book. A birthday party - he’s not sure whose, maybe his cousin Alex. Everyone’s wearing superhero capes including his dad.

His dad.

He stares at the face behind the protective plastic layer. The camera caught him mid laugh, blurry around the edges from motion but radiating happiness at something.

Phil isn’t aware he’s about to cry until the first tears are welling up in his eyes.

He can’t even bring himself to turn the page. He wants to keep looking through. He wants to immerse himself in memories until they feel good again.

But he really fucking misses his dad.

He misses his mum, too. He misses his brother. He misses feeling safe and surrounded like a child.

He pushes the book closed and draws his knees up to his chest, burying his face against them. His breathing is ragged and his sobs are loud without any ability to control them, though he tries desperately. He hitches in air and shakes with it and the tears are messy down his face.

The knock at the door catches him off guard. He stands so fast he almost feels lightheaded and says, “Yeah?” with a cracking voice.

“It’s me,” Dan says, as though it would be anyone else.

“Just a sec.” Phil frantically wipes at the dampness on his cheeks and chin, even pulling his shirt up to use it. He’s sure he still looks a mess but his face is dry at least when he opens the door.

It’s stupid to feel surprised that Dan is stood right there, with his hand on the jamb. He’s wearing a red hoodie that says Manchester University on the front. It looks to be a touch too small for him. His hair is its usual mess of unkempt brown waves and his eyes look… something. Sad? Worried?

He looks rather beautiful. Which is a strange thing for Phil to be thinking about when the feeling in his chest is that of an actual broken heart, but he’s thinking it nonetheless.

“Hey,” Dan says, and his voice is so soft that Phil already knows he’s going to start crying again. “Are you okay?”

And he does, he cries. Dan’s concern unleashes a second wave of emotion that’s too acute for Phil to swallow down. He covers his face with his hands and shakes his head. He chokes out a, “Sorry,” moving to step back into his room and close the door.

Then Dan’s hand is grabbing his arm, gentle, but firm enough for Phil to know he means it. His hands drop down to his sides out of surprise more than anything, and Dan lets go.

“Sorry,” Dan mumbles.

“I’m— I’ll be fine,” Phil says. He sniffles hard. It’s gross, but he’s already humiliated himself utterly, and he supposes it’s better than letting the snot run out. He lifts his shirt again to wipe away all the moisture on his face. “Sorry. I’m fine.”

“Phil.”

That voice. It’s _so_ soft. Phil’s never heard it sound anything like that.

“What?” he croaks.

“If you want me to leave you alone, I will. But you’re not fine.”

Phil’s exhale is shaky. He doesn’t feel at all settled. He knows he’s going to cry again. Probably a lot, in fits and starts, possibly for the rest of the night until exhaustion takes him.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” Dan asks. “Or do you want to be distracted?”

Phil bites his lip. His chin is quivering. The vulnerability of it is intolerable. “Distracted, please,” he whimpers.

Dan nods. “Get changed. We’re going out.”

-

Phil has no idea where the fuck he’s going, but Dan’s leading him through the city.

They haven’t been talking much, probably because of the pelting rain. He isn’t expecting it when Dan stops in front of a pair of heavy double doors. They’re paint chipped red and padlocked shut. Phil glances up but he can’t see what the sign above the door says.

Dan touches his arm then nods his head and walks around to the side of the building. The rain starts to pick up suddenly and he hunches his shoulders inside his jacket and ducks his head down.

There are more doors along the side, close to the back of the building. He watches with squinted eyes as Dan pulls his keys out of his pocket and fumbles one into the lock. The door creaks open and they both hurry inside.

“Sorry,” Dan says, apologetically. “If I’d known the weather was going to do that I wouldn’t have taken you out on a field trip.”

“It’s alright,” Phil says, though he’s slightly shivering. His voice echoes off of the walls. He looks up and around. The ceilings are high and the building dark, only emergency lighting keeping total darkness at bay. “Though now I’m wondering if you brought me here to murder me.”

“Nah,” Dan says. “I need your half of the rent too much.”

Phil catches sight of a large map along the wall. “Wait, is this a tube station?”

“Not anymore,” Dan says, stepping up behind Phil. “Also, that’s not actually a real map.”

“What?” Phil frowns and reaches out to tap it. “It looks real to me.”

“It’s a movie prop,” Dan says. “The Darkest Hour. Did you see it?”

“The Churchill movie?” Phil asks. “Yeah, I did.”

With his dad. He swallows back that feeling hard.

“There were some parts filmed here. That’s really all this old place gets used for these days. It hasn’t been a working tube station since the early 90s.”

“Oh, wow.” Phil looks around again, taking it in. “That’s so cool.”

Dan’s looking at Phil’s face smugly. “Mate, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

-

They go down a long spiraling staircase. Phil’s heart is pounding like he’s expecting ghosts to jump out of every corner, though it’s actually well lit down here. Dan made sure all the lights were on before they started their venture down.

“There are two platforms,” Dan says. “One of them is mostly kept up because it’s used as a filming location. The other looks a bit shit, but that’s cool too.”

“How do you know about this place? Wait, you had a key, how did you get a key?” Phil fires questions at him.

He would have given anything to have a place like this to film his university assignments in.

“When I realized being a lawyer wasn’t working out for me I transferred to the London Film School,” Dan says. “But it was rough for me when I first transferred. I thought studying something I liked would solve all of my problems and… it didn’t.”

“Yeah?” Phil says, more of a gentle encouragement for Dan to keep going than anything else.

“One of my profs brought the whole class here once. We had to watch scenes from a lot of films that were shot here just to notice how different producers and directors and cinematographers could utilize the same space in so many different ways. And I just… really liked it down here. It’s like actually disappearing from the world, but not in a sad ‘don’t leave your own bed’ kind of way. I told her I wanted to do some extra credit to make up for my shit grades and asked for special permission to come back down. And I just… never gave it back.”

“She didn’t ask for it?” Phil asks.

Dan laughs. “I think she was doing me a favor letting me keep it. There’s no way she just forgot. She was good, though. Closest thing I had to a mentor.”

“Were you secretly dating?” Phil asks impulsively, then immediately regrets it.

“What?” Dan laughs sharply. It bounces off the walls and fills Phil’s ears. “No! She was like seventy, mate, I’m not into that Harold and Maude scene.”

“Oh, so that one you’ve seen,” Phil laughs.

“Yeah,” Dan says. “So, like… no. Definitely weren’t dating. And besides, I’m…” Dan trails off. Before Phil can prod him to elaborate, Dan’s saying, “Oh hey, here we are.”

Phil stops a few steps from the bottom and gapes. “Wait, there’s actually a train down here?”

Dan laughs again. It’s fond and friendly this time. “Yeah, I mean, it’s a tube station. Be weird if there were like, I don’t know, a submarine here.”

“Oi, shut it,” Phil says. “You know what I meant. It’s an abandoned station, I thought it’d be… abandoned of trains, too.”

Dan shrugs. “If it helps it is actually also an abandoned train. They use it for filming sometimes, too. It still powers up.”

“Can we go on it?” Phil asks.

“Yeah, of course.” Dan seems pleased that Phil likes his surprise.

They walk onto the train car and sit in one of the rows. Phil looks up and all around, just taking in the station maps and faded peeling posters. “It’s like a time capsule,” he says, seeing an advert for a West End show his parents took him to when he was young. The memory tugs at his heart, but he’s not going to let it get the better of him again. He has Dan to thank for that.

“Yeah,” Dan says, looking up as well. He sounds kind of dreamy, and Phil lets himself look. Dan doesn’t seem to notice.

“Do you come here a lot?” Phil asks.

Dan slumps back against the seat. “Not as much as I used to. But… sometimes.”

Phil nods, turning his gaze back up to the adverts.

“Usually only when I’m feeling low.”

Phil looks at him, frowning like he’s not sure he understands, even though he does. Maybe he just wants to hear Dan talk about it. He’s quickly becoming addicted to hearing Dan’s confessions, his vulnerabilities.

“On the moderately bad depression days,” Dan clarifies. “The days I feel like utter shite but can still drag myself out of bed.”

“Yeah?” Phil murmurs. “And it helps?”

Dan shrugs. “Probably mostly just because it forces me to get dressed and exist in the world outside of my own head. And I guess it reminds me of a time in my life where I was able to make things better for myself.”

Phil nods, his throat going tight. Maybe his emotion is going to get the better of him again after all. “I wish I could do that.” His voice is barely above a whisper.

Dan cocks his head thoughtfully, but he doesn’t say any of the things Phil reckons he’d say if the shoe was on the other foot. He doesn’t assure Phil that he _can_ do that, or that he’s already doing it. He doesn’t say anything trite or weighed down with the uselessness of platitude.

Phil thinks he’s grateful for that, but he’s not entirely sure. Maybe some useless platitude would be a comfort.

“Sometimes I think I used up all my bravery back then,” Dan says. “I had a quota of ability to be functional and I blew through it all at once when I dropped out of law school and moved here and had the balls to try again.”

“No,” Phil says. Apparently he’s not above baseless reassurance.

“No?”

Phil shakes his head.

But it’s not baseless, is it? It’s not.

“No,” Phil says again. “You eat healthy. You exercise. You go to therapy. You let your insufferable little brother stay with you, even though he causes you pain.” He runs his fingers through his pathetically drooping quiff. “You indulge your annoying flatmate in movie marathons even when you probably have a million better things to do.”

Dan is frowning.

“You’re functional,” Phil continues. “You’re downright decent.”

“Shut up.”

Phil sighs, mirroring Dan’s posture and slumping back in his seat. “Fine. Sorry.”

“I don’t indulge you.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t,” Dan insists. “I don’t have anything better to do.”

Phil smiles wryly.

Dan rolls his eyes. “That’s not—” He makes a quiet noise of frustration. “I meant, I don’t have better things to do because that’s already, like, the best thing.”

Phil lets that sink in. He lets it warm him.

He believes it. Dan doesn’t go in for baseless reassurance.

“Thanks,” Phil says. “And thanks for…” He gestures vaguely at their surroundings. “This place is really cool.”

“You seemed like you needed it.”

Phil laughs, his breath shaky on the exhale. “Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He’s looking right at Phil. His eyes are dark; nothing like Ben’s.

Not that Phil’s thinking of Ben. Not that Phil’s thinking about how Dan compares to Ben.

“I’d rather talk about you.”

Dan’s expression is indecipherable. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been talking about myself all night.”

“I know,” Phil says quietly. “I like it.”

“You’re really keen on this mystery act, aren’t you?” Dan asks.

“It’s not…” Phil frowns. “It’s not a mystery act. I don’t want to be mysterious. I just… sometimes saying things out loud is hard for me. Like it makes them real.”

“I get that,” Dan says. He pulls his long legs up and props them on the back of the seat in front of him. “There are a lot of things I don’t say out loud because I don’t want them to be real.”

Phil desperately wants to ask what, but he also knows it’s unfair if he’s not ready to be that open with Dan. He stares down at his hands, clenched together.

He still feels damp all over from the rain outside and it’s a bit cold down here, but he doesn’t want to leave.

“You know, they filmed a German horror film down here,” Dan says eventually. “It had Franka Potente in it.”

“I don’t know who that is,” Phil says. “But I can see how this could make a great horror film set. Is it good?”

Dan gives him a cutting look. “Do you think I actually watched it? I’d never be able to come back down here alone if I did.”

Phil laughs. There’s no echo inside the train car. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Sherlock filmed here though,” Dan says. “ _That_ I watched.”

“I watched it too,” Phil says. “Got a bit shit toward the end.”

Dan sighs. “As most things do. I really value a series that knows how to go out on top, you know?”

“Too many of them go on too long,” Phil agrees. It’s relaxing to fall back into talking about things like that.

“Yeah. Almost all of them, honestly.”

“Not Buffy,” Phil says.

“The slayer of vampires?”

Phil laughs. “Yeah, that one.”

“You were into that?” Dan asks.

“Understatement of the century. I don’t think I’ve ever been more obsessed with anything.”

“Huh. I never really got into it. I’ve seen a few episodes, I guess. Enough to get the gist.”

Phil shakes his head. “If you properly got the gist you would’ve watched the whole show.”

Dan smirks. “That so?”

“Yep.” Phil shivers a little, crossing his arms over his chest to hug himself. “I made all my friends watch it.”

“I bet they loved that,” Dan teases.

Phil has to admit: “Yeah, no. I guess I was annoying about it.”

“That’s just how you are, I reckon.”

Phil looks at him. “What, annoying?”

“Mate.” Dan cocks his head and gives Phil a look.

“What?”

“What I mean is, you get passionate about the things you like. And you like to share that with people you care about.”

“Oh,” Phil says quietly.

“I mean, even with me, some random bloke you’ve barely known any time at all, you’re making a list of films we have to watch together.”

“Yeah.” Phil pulls his knees up to mirror Dan’s posture. “Like I said. Annoying.”

“I don’t think you’re annoying, Phil. And honestly, I find most people unbearable.”

“That so?” Phil finally asks, knowing he needs to say something but not really having any idea what to say.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed the absolute lack of a social life.”

“Not really,” Phil says. “I mean, you’re home a lot, but so am I. And sometimes you go out.”

“Work meetings. Therapy.” Dan gestures around. “Here, sometimes, when I just need to fucking escape.”

“I needed an escape today,” Phil says. “Thank you for sharing yours.”

“Any time,” Dan says, pulling his long legs back down. “So, do you wanna go explore now?”

Phil grins. “Yeah, please.”

-

The rain has stopped by the time they emerge. They pick up dinner on their way back home and eat in front of the television, as has become their unspoken routine whenever they take a meal together.

Phil is damp and shivering, and the warmth of their flat won’t seem to seep into his bones. So Dan goes to his room and reappears a moment later with a grey blanket that he drapes across Phil’s shoulders. It’s soft and fuzzy and it smells like Dan.

Maybe Phil shouldn’t know that, what Dan smells like. Maybe that’s a creepy thing for him to know.

He’s not terribly arsed to care tonight. Dan’s been unreasonably kind and generous; he clearly doesn’t think Phil is a creep. Not even now that he knows that it is within the realm of possibility for Phil to be attracted to him.

After the second episode of the show they’re watching rolls into a third, Dan turns to look at Phil. “Hey, so, I’ve kind of got a thing I need to finish tonight.”

“Crap.” Phil sits up ramrod straight from where he’d been slumped back into the cushions. “You should have told me.”

“It’s fine. It’s not due til tomorrow, so I’ve got all night.”

Phil feels like a right wanker. “You should go finish it. I’m sorry I made you—”

“Shut up.” Dan’s voice is firm.

Phil’s mouth snaps shut.

“I was just going to ask if you think you’re alright for me to go do that. ‘Cause if not, I can bring my laptop out and work on it while you watch stuff.”

Phil shakes his head. “You really don’t have to do that.”

Dan studies him closely for so long that Phil’s skin starts to prickle. Dan narrows his eyes. “Are you sure?”

Phil nods, mentally scrambling for something to convince him. He lands on: “I should probably ring my mum anyway. I haven’t spoken to her in ages.”

“Voluntarily communicating with your mother, eh?” Dan smiles wryly. “Can’t relate.”

“She’s in America now,” Phil says. “I’ve been using the excuse of time zones. And…” He stops himself there. Dan doesn’t need a rundown on all the ways talking to his mum has been emotionally fraught since he moved here.

“I don’t wanna leave you alone if you’re in a bad place,” Dan says bluntly.

“I’m okay.” He smiles. He’s not sure okay is exactly the right word. In truth he’d like nothing more than to watch anime with Dan all night.

But he’s an adult. They both are, and Dan’s got actual responsibilities that Phil’s already kept him from for hours.

And he really should ring his mum. She’s left him a series of increasingly agitated voicemails, and the guilt is starting to properly gnaw at him.

“Alright,” Dan says, sounding reluctant. “If you change your mind…”

Phil smiles again. “I’ve got your number.”

-

He ends up back in his bedroom, sitting on the bed and staring out the window at the night sky. It’s never really properly dark in London. Light pollutes the darkness with an ever present haze. It’s pretty.

He feels like he should be doing something. It’s strange to him still to have so much time unaccounted for. He always felt like he had a checklist of what he should accomplish in a week when he lived in Manchester, or back home.

Things to do with his dad, his mum. Things to do with his dad’s business. Answering enough of Ian’s messages that he didn’t worry too much. Spending time with Martyn and Cornelia.

But now he’s just got himself. All of the free time feels vulnerable in a way he hadn’t really ever imagined it would.

He’s trying to talk himself into picking his mobile up and ringing his mum when he hears a coo at his window. He stands and walks over, smiling at the familiar pigeon perched on his window balcony. “Hi there,” he says. “Did I miss dinner? Sorry about that. I went and saw some London sights. I bet you see cool sights all the time, don’t you?”

He pulls open one of the nightstand drawers and pulls out the container of bird food he’d recently purchased. He shakes some out into the dish he’s put on the balcony - just a little bowl, nothing fancy - and by the time he puts the food away again Gerald is happily digging in.

“You’re welcome,” Phil says to him, then shuts the window again. He spends a few minutes just watching the bird eat before he sighs and leans back into the room.

He fishes his phone from his pocket and rings his mum before he can second guess it. It might be late for him but she’s on Florida time.

She answers with a warm, “Child!”

It makes him smile even while his heart hurts. “Hi, mum. How are you doing? How’s Florida?”

“Oh, you know. The sun is shining and Americans are noisy.”

“Same as it always is, then,” Phil says. Only it’s not. In one very big, very life altering way.

“It’s lovely, really,” she says. “Although I do miss my boys quite a lot.”

Phil looks down at his pj bottoms, the red and blue lines that intersect to form their plaid pattern. “How’s Auntie Roz?”

“She’s well. Knitting hats even in thirty degree heat, if you can believe it.”

Phil smiles. “I definitely can. Have you been to Gatorland? Disney?” He’s not sure he really cares about the answer. He just wants her to talk. He wants to feel like things are normal.

“Tell me about _you_ , love. There’s nothing new here. It really is the same as it ever was. I want to know how things are in Londontown.”

He sighs quietly. Of course she does. That’s why he never wants to ring her anymore. “I’m taking it day by day,” he admits. “Some are easier than others.”

She’s quiet a moment longer than he was expecting. “For me as well,” she says eventually.

His eyebrows lift up. “Yeah?”

“Of course.” She clears her throat. “It’s… It's a difficult thing, innit? I wanted to be strong for you and your brother, but sometimes…”

“Mum,” he says softly. Suddenly he feels like the world’s biggest asshole.

She seems to know. “It’s alright, child.”

“I’ve handled everything exactly wrong.”

“You haven’t at all,” she says. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Don’t say that.” There’s a giant lump swelling in his throat. “I’ve blubbered enough today.”

She laughs, and it sounds wet. He can’t bear it.

“Mum, seriously. Just… ask me anything. Anything you’ve been wondering about, I’ll tell you.”

“Have you found a job?”

“Yeah,” he says, air rushing out of his mouth noisily in relief. “At an art studio shop thing.”

“That sounds lovely.”

“It is. The pay is crap and there’s no potential for any kind of advancement, but… it’s what I need right now. It makes me happy.” He pauses. “Reminds me of dad. In a nice way.”

“That’s wonderful, Phil.”

He lays himself down then, sinking the back of his head into his pillow. “You’re not secretly disappointed I’m not being more ambitious?”

“If I gave a shite about that, I would’ve let you keep rotting away at home running the company,” she says.

He’s taken aback in about a hundred different ways. “Jesus, Mum.”

“S’true.”

There’s a feeling spreading through him, a warmth, a lightness. Some kind of hope. The world isn’t out to get him, and he hasn’t been betrayed. He’s not disappointing anyone by being a little bit fucked up right now. He’s coping, and that’s alright. They’re all a little fucked up. He’s not alone in his pain.

“Mum.”

“Child.”

“I came out to my flatmate. So you don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

“I want to tell you I’m proud,” she says. “But I suppose I won’t.”

He squeezes his eyes shut. A tear rolls down his cheek, but it’s not followed by any others. “I really love you, mum.”

“And I you, little Dib.”


	16. Chapter 16

*

*

It’s late at night. Phil is more awake than he should be after a two hour nap on the sofa after work. Dan had come home from wherever he’d been and announced to a groggy Phil that they were watching a screener he needed to review before the end of the week, and Phil had sat up and stretched and tried not to be too smiley about it. 

Phil made popcorn. Dan made drinks.

The room is dark now save for the glow of the tv screen and the soft shadows it throws across Dan’s face.

Not that Phil’s looking. He may have looked a time or two, but he’s not _looking_. Sometimes he just likes to watch the reactions Dan has to certain key moments in whatever it is they’re watching. The man has an expressive face, is all. 

If Phil is maybe looking a little bit, he’s going to blame the alcohol. And the way things between the two of them seem to have shifted ever so slightly in the past few weeks. 

Maybe that’s just what happens as two people get to know each other better. Phil can’t help feeling that’s not quite it, but he’s always been shit at analyzing himself, let alone other people. Whatever the reason, he’s enjoying it. The nights he spends watching films with Dan are more numerous than the nights he spends on his own now, and he’s certainly not complaining about it. 

He’s honestly having a hard time even following the plot of the movie tonight. It’s the kind he’s not necessarily keen on, the kind where the pace is slow and there’s not actually much plot to speak of. Dan teases him for it, says if there aren’t dinosaurs or car chases or time travelling alien robot monkeys then Phil can’t be bothered to pay attention, and he may actually have something resembling a point there. 

Then there’s a man’s face on the screen, a face that’s kissing another man’s face and it takes everything within him not to turn his head to study Dan’s reaction to _that_. 

What happens next leaves his heart racing, and not in a good way. There’s ugliness on the screen, violence, the kind Phil prefers not to be reminded exists in the world for people with inclinations like his. He turns his gaze away, towards the darkness of the lounge. He doesn’t have to see it to know what’s happening. He stops short of plugging his ears, just hoping the scene will end as quickly as it started.

It does, but it’s too abrupt, and all at once the room goes completely silent. The only noise Phil can hear is the sound of his pulse rushing in his ears.

Dan must have turned off the film. He must have figured his queer flatmate would be upset by it. Guilt bubbles up into Phil’s chest. He may not enjoy mainstream media’s penchant for killing their gays, but he’s an adult. He can grit his teeth and bear it, especially since it’s Dan’s actual job to watch this movie and report on it.

He wipes his clammy hands on his jeans and twists around to turn on the lamp. Then he turns to Dan, ready to assure him that while he appreciates the gesture, it isn’t necessary.

The words die on his tongue. Dan’s hand is pressed to his mouth, eyes wide, breaths coming fast and shallow. 

Phil’s never seen Dan properly upset like this. It’s unbearable.

He reaches his hand out, letting it hover above Dan’s arm for a moment before dropping it down and squeezing.

Dan turns his head away so Phil can’t see his face.

“Dan,” Phil says. “Are you okay?”

Stupid question, but he’s not sure what else to say.

Dan shakes his head in a quick jerk. 

Phil feels utterly helpless. None too small a part of him just wants to gather Dan in his arms and squeeze until he’s alright, but he’s not nearly drunk enough to think that’s a remotely acceptable reaction to this situation. In reality, he’s not drunk at all. Whatever hint of buzz he’d had going on a moment ago has been so thoroughly obliterated that he reckons he’s got whiplash.

But the urge to touch is overwhelming, so Phil slides his hand up Dan’s arm, across his shoulder to his back. He presses his palm flat between Dan’s shoulder blades and hopes he isn’t crossing a line Dan doesn’t want him to cross. 

“Dan,” he says, trying to keep the wobble out of his voice. Then he takes a page out of Dan’s book. “Do you want to be alone? Or do you wanna be distracted.”

Dan inhales sharply through his nose. “Distracted.”

“We can go to the train station again,” Phil offers. 

Dan shakes his head. 

“A different movie?” Phil tries again. His hand still rests on Dan’s back and he starts rubbing in slow circles on instinct, just like his mum used to do to him. 

“No, I just…” Dan’s breath hitches. 

“It’s okay,” Phil says, quiet. “Dan, it’s okay.” 

Dan half turns and then makes another choked sound. The image on the screen is frozen. Phil realizes Dan only paused it. He grabs the remote and pushes the off button with a trembling finger. 

He can’t get that last frame out of his mind. He thinks Dan must not be able to either. He needs something to replace it, something that lets him breathe. 

“Come on,” Phil says, inspiration striking. “I know where we can go.” 

-

Dan still looks pale as they walk through the city streets. They’re emptier than normal for the late hour and Phil is glad for it. 

Phil touches his arm to indicate a turn and then has to touch it again to get Dan to stop when they’re in front of the shop. “We’re here.” 

“What—” Dan looks up, blinking. “Oh, is this—” 

“Where I work,” Phil says, pulling his keys from his pocket. 

“What are we doing here?” Dan asks. 

Phil opens the door and lets Dan step in ahead of him. He turns on the light but flips the sign back closed and locks the door again. “We’re going to paint.”

Dan sits on a table and watches Phil as he fills palettes full of squirts of a range of different colors. “Acrylic,” he explains. He isn’t sure if Dan really needs to hear him talk but he wants to fill the space with something besides silence. “So it won’t take ages and ages to dry. What do you think, a few more blues? Maybe a purple? You like purple, don’t you?”

“I like purple,” Dan says. “It used to be my favourite colour.” 

Phil can’t remember when Dan told him that. Maybe during one of their dinners together. 

“Purple it is. We’ll do a dark and a light one, never know what mood will strike. And… ooh, this is a nice dark gray. And - oh, pink. Can’t forget pink.” 

“I’m shit at art,” Dan says. He’s wearing sweatpants and the same t-shirt he’d been in earlier. Phil’s still dressed from work; he’d fallen into his nap before he changed. 

Phil grins at him. “So am I. But luckily talent doesn’t matter, because we’re just painting feelings.” 

“Painting feelings,” Dan repeats. 

He’s got dark circles under his eyes already. Phil suddenly and desperately wants to make Dan smile. 

“Yeah, feelings. Feelings can be anything. That’s what Stevie says.” 

“Your boss, Stevie. That you aren’t dating.” 

Phil laughs. “Why does everyone think I’m dating everyone I talk about? No, I’m very gay, thanks.” 

Dan already knew he wasn’t straight, of course, because of the Ben conversation. But it’s still the first time that Phil’s specifically said the words aloud to him. 

Dan’s face does a funny thing, like he’s feeling slightly sick. Phil’s sure it has something to do with the film. “Has anything like that ever happened to you?” 

“No,” Phil says. “I was… I didn’t come out to most of my friends until after I was out of school, and my family… they were okay with it, eventually.” 

“Eventually,” Dan echos. “Even your dad?” 

Phil puts off answering by handing Dan a set of brushes in a plastic cup. “Here,” he says. “Start painting some feelings.” 

Dan takes them. “I don’t even know which ones to use.” 

“Me either,” Phil says. “So that means there’s no wrong one to pick.” 

“Is Stevie alright with this?” Dan asks, hesitantly plucking out a medium sized brush and studying it like it’s got a secret. “I don’t want you to get sacked because of me.”

“She gave me the keys to the place for exactly this reason.”

Dan looks at him, eyebrows raised in question.

“For when I feel like shit and need something nice,” Phil clarifies. 

“You,” Dan says. “Not me.”

Phil shrugs, choosing the largest brush in the cup. “I can’t really over stress to you how cool she is. I think she’d let me throw an orgy in here if I told her it’d make me happy.”

Dan snorts. It’s a disarmingly gorgeous sound for what is objectively not a nice sound at all.

“Not that I ever would,” Phil assures.

Dan dips his brush into the black paint. “What do you need distracting from?” he asks. “Is it always the same thing?”

Phil’s heart rate kicks up. He reckons Dan wouldn’t be asking that if he weren’t so emotionally compromised, but something about that just makes Phil want to tell him the truth.

“Uh, yeah, actually.”

Dan looks up from where he’s smeared one stroke of paint against his canvas. All of his attention is focused on Phil’s face. It’s intimidating and nerve wracking and Phil loves it more than he should.

“It’s my dad,” Phil says. “He… died.”

“Oh. Shit, Phil.”

Phil smiles. It feels like a load off, just like when he told Dan about Ben. “That’s why I moved here. I was living in my family home in Lancashire and my mum was tired of me being a depressed zombie, so she kicked me out.”

Dan rubs the back of his head. “What happened to him?” Immediately he blusters. “Sorry, you don’t have to tell me.”

“Cancer. He was sick for a long time.”

“Fuck, he breathes. “I’m sorry, Phil.” 

“Yeah.” Phil’s not sure what else to say. He never did figure out the right way to accept people’s condolences in a way that wasn’t awkward. 

“Did that help?” Dan asks. “I mean, like… help you prepare for…?” His eyes haven’t left Phil’s face.

“You’d think,” Phil says. “I don’t know, maybe it did. Maybe if it had been sudden I would have taken it even worse.”

“You were close?”

Phil nods. “Always been close with my family.”

Dan nods, finally looking away, picking up his brush again. He looks uncomfortable.

“Sorry,” Phil says. “I wanted to distract you, not make you sad in a different way.”

He shakes his head. “You can tell me about it if you want.”

“There’s not much to say, honestly. I moved back in with my parents when he got really sick. Took leave from work, stopped answering Ben’s - my ex’s - calls. Sort of dropped off the face of my life. Then he died and it kind of felt like a part of me died too.” His hands are shaking as he dips his brush in the blue paint. “I’m only just starting to feel like a person again.”

He smears the paint blob onto the canvas and he’s hit with how good it feels. How freeing, just to make a visual mess to represent the mess he still feels on the inside. 

Dan watches Phil and then it’s as if he remembers their purpose is here. He starts to methodically swipe black across the top of the canvas. He doesn’t top up the brush, so as he hits a third of the way down it starts to streak against the white behind it. When Dan does go for more paint he goes into the purple and does the same, a slow and thorough back and forth. 

“My dad is a tosser,” Dan says. “He and I have never gotten on. He didn’t even want me, he wasn’t ready to be a parent and I think he’s always resented me for it.” 

“Dan.” Phil’s voice is soft and pained. “That’s awful.” 

“He just… he doesn’t approve of anything I do, really. Even now that I’m an independent adult not hindering his lifestyle at all. I guess he feels like I stole his prime years or something.” 

“He’s the one who didn’t wear a condom,” Phil says. “That’s not your fault.” 

Dan snorts. He dips into a dark, deep blue and starts to paint over the purple with it. 

Phil uses something brighter on his own painting, using a technique Stevie taught him to add pink clouds above the blue. He gets an idea and starts to grin, painting more enthusiastically. He doesn’t care that his hand always trembles slightly or that his colors smear and blend together where they shouldn’t or that he sometimes moves the brush too enthusiastically and droplets of paint splatter at random. 

“My dad doesn’t like hearing anything is his fault, either,” Dan says, then freezes. “Fuck, is this like, insensitive? For me to be complaining about my dad when yours isn’t even still alive?” 

“No,” Phil says. “My dad being dead doesn’t make yours any less of a tosser. It doesn’t upset me.”  
It’s the truth, though a truth Phil wouldn’t have even really known until the conversation started. But he can hear the pain in Dan’s voice and it isn’t any less real than his own pain. 

“My dad was great,” Phil says. “But we still had our issues. Like, I don’t think he ever really knew what to do with me. He still loved me anyway but I was horrible at sport and not nearly as good at building and fixing things as my brother was. When I got older he would try, though. He would watch anime with me or Buffy—” 

“Of course Buffy,” Dan says, giving Phil a little half smile. 

“Of course Buffy!” Phil grins back. “And he’d always ask me about guys even though that was horribly awkward for both of us. I guess in a way that makes me love him even more, that it wasn’t as natural with me as it was Martyn but… he still tried all the same.” 

Dan is quiet for a while. Then he says, “I can’t imagine losing someone like that.”

“That’s what… Last week, when you took me to the train station. I’d been looking at photos of him.”

Dan doesn’t say anything, just looks up so Phil knows he’s listening.

“You’ve been really great,” Phil says, heart beating a little faster at the nakedness of his vulnerability. “Helping me get out of my head. Helping me take a break from missing him.”

Dan is clearly flustered by that. His cheek goes splotchy right above the jaw, and Phil reckons it’s a little too much sincerity to be expected to verbally respond to.

“Your dad really is an idiot,” he says quickly. “And your brother too. Though at least your brother seems to care about you.”

Dan laughs. “God. I wish he’d care a little fucking less.”

“Does he really think eating vegetables would be better for depression than therapy?” Phil asks.

Dan looks surprised.

“I may have overheard your argument that day,” Phil admits.

Dan sighs. “I dunno, man. He said he cured himself with veganism and extreme exercise and, I dunno, positive energy bullshit and all that. I mean, I’m glad he’s happier, but I wish he’d understand that we’re not the same, you know? We didn’t have the same struggles. He never had to deal with—” He cuts himself off rather abruptly. “Anyway.” His eyes flick up to look at Phil and then back down to his own painting. 

“What about your mum?” Phil asks before he can think better of it. 

Dan sighs again, longer this time. Deeper. “That’s… complicated.”

“Right,” Phil says. “Sorry. Not my business.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, literally, it’s complicated. Like… murky. She was never as bad as my dad. At least I’m pretty sure she loves me and shit.”

Phil’s heart hurts at the idea that Dan would ever have to wonder whether or not his own mother loves him.

“But she kind of… let a lot of bad things happen to me. And I guess I haven’t forgiven her for that yet.”

Phil doesn’t know what to say, so instead he does what he always does when words won’t come to him, and he reaches out to touch. He puts his hand on Dan’s shoulder and squeezes gently.

Dan smiles. “Sorry. Don’t mean to make you into a second therapist.”

“I literally asked.”

“I could lie. Or white lie. Might be more polite.”

Phil shakes his head. “I wouldn’t want you to.”

“Alright,” Dan says. “Noted.” He drops his gaze back to his canvas. His painting actually looks really cool, so Phil tells him so.

“You think?” Dan asks.

“Yeah. Since I started working here I’ve realized I really like abstract. I don’t really know how to do it myself, but Stevie’s ace at it. And you, apparently.”

“Ace,” Dan repeats, laughing softly. 

“Did I ever tell you my dad was an artist?” Phil asks.

“Oh yeah?” The words could easily be a dismissal, a brush off, but Dan’s tone suggests anything but.

Phil nods. “That’s kind of what makes this place feel so… I don’t know. Special. Do you believe in fate?”

Dan scoffs. “Definitely not.”

Phil is undeterred. “Well I think I do. And I think I was meant to be here at this point in my life.” It does make him feel a touch ridiculous, so he tucks his head and scoops more pink paint onto his brush. “I mean, I don’t know. It just feels a little too perfect to be coincidence.”

“It was… good timing,” Dan concedes. “And you do seem happy here.” 

“A lot of it is Stevie,” Phil says. “I’ve never had a friend quite like her.” 

He’s never had one quite like Dan, either, but something keeps him from saying that. 

“As long as she doesn’t try and coax you into living with her,” Dan says. “Because I really can’t be bothered interviewing more flatmates.” 

“Really?” Phil teases him a bit. “Are you sure it isn’t just because I’m the most frickin’ awesome flatmate you could ever hope to have?”

Dan levels a look at him. “What was that? I couldn’t hear you over the concussion you almost gave me by leaving every single cupboard door open.” 

Phil laughs in a delighted way. He feels almost giddy with relief… or maybe that’s just what happens when it’s midnight and he’s in an art studio painting nonsense with the person who’s rapidly becoming his… well, Ian’s his best friend, but _something_ special. 

“Nah,” he says, then reaches out with absolute and unearned confidence to dot pink paint on Dan’s nose. “You love me.” 

Dan sputters and rubs at his nose with his hand. It comes back smeared pink. “You did not just do that.” 

“Hmm, I didn’t?” Phil studies the paint brush, then tries to reach out and do it again. 

Dan’s reflexes are fast, though. He grabs Phil’s wrist and pushes it back toward Phil, the paint covered bristles swiping against his cheek before Phil reacts. 

Phil shrieks and tries to pull away but Dan keeps hold of his wrist and reaches for his own brush, swiping deep purple on Phil’s other cheek. When he’s busy laughing Phil ducks away, but drags his own brush through the green and then flicks it hard in Dan’s direction. 

“I am going to actually murder you,” Dan says. “I am going to perform acts of violence upon your person, you absolute fucking—” 

Phil flicks more paint at him. 

Dan grabs one of the brushes from the cup, the biggest one, and goes for a pretty lavender. “I hope you like purple, bitch.”

Phil laughs like a nervous hyena and crunches down to hide his face against the table, shielding his head as best he can with his arms. He waits for the inevitable attack, giggling, his whole body tensed and ready.

When nothing happens, he lifts his head. Dan grins and very calmly leans right into his space and brushes a fat wet stripe of lavender slowly across Phil’s forehead. Then he leans back in his chair looking far too pleased with himself. He tilts his head, studying his handiwork. “I think it’s an improvement,” he says smugly. 

“This is animal abuse,” Phil says, and then an awful realization hits as he looks at Dan’s t-shirt all speckled with green. “This paint isn’t washable.”

To his relief, Dan looks down at his chest and shrugs. “It’s art now. A Phil Lester original.”

“I accept payment in the form of snacks and/or fancy caffeinated beverages.”

“And what do I get for turning your face into a masterpiece?” Dan asks. His cheek is dimpled and Phil has a lot of feelings about it that he reckons are going to be harder to deny from here on out. 

“That depends,” Phil says. “What do you want?” 

Dan’s smile slowly gives way to an expression that makes Phil’s mouth go dry. It’s something Phil will probably assume he’d exaggerated when he lies in bed replaying it later. 

Dan’s gaze shifts downwards from Phil’s eyes just a fraction, so subtly that Phil only really sees it because of the way it makes his eyelashes move.

And then it’s over, and Dan is scrubbing a hand up his face and into his hair, carding through slightly frizzed brown waves. “I want a fucking burger.”

Phil hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until it comes whooshing out of him. He smiles. “Like, a veggie burger?”

“No. Like a fucking slab of beef. With cheese. And bacon.”

Phil frowns. “Am I supposed to argue you out of it? Or tell you it’s alright?”

“You aren’t my brother, Phil,” Dan says, rolling his eyes. 

Phil refrains from saying how glad he is for that. 

Dan grabs a cloth from the stack of them that, though clean, are very clearly just for this mopping up purpose. He manages to get… most of the color off his skin. “Your only responsibility right now is to find the nearest place I can eat some cow.” 

Phil makes a face at him. “When you say it like that, I’m not sure if _I_ want one.” 

“It is what it is. If I’m gonna break the meat fast I’m at least going to be honest about it.” Dan pulls his phone out of the pocket of his sweats. “Unless you need to go home. Go to sleep or something.” 

Phil does have work in the morning but he already has that feeling in his chest, like when he was back in school and he’d go to play football with his friends after school not because of any desire to kick a ball across a field but because the boy that played goalie had hair like sunshine and once he gave Phil his jacket when Phil was cold from sitting on the bench and had forgotten his own. 

Dan hasn’t lent Phil a jacket but… Dan got upset at a movie where a character was hurt for his sexuality. Dan listened to Phil talk about his dad. Dan trusted Phil enough to tell Phil about his own vulnerable past traumas. Dan plays piano music at three in the morning and he isn’t afraid of calling Phil out when Phil’s being daft about something, even as silly as his taste in movies. Dan has… such a nice smile. 

“That’s fair,” Phil decides, already on his phone looking up what’s open this late.


	17. Chapter 17

*

*

Phil is elbow deep in dishwater and belting along to Mika with all the lyrics wrong when his phone rings. He frowns at Martyn’s face across his screen but can’t get his hands dry fast enough to answer.

He still leaves a damp thumbprint on the screen when he rings back. Martyn answers almost right away. “Screening me, eh?”

Phil can’t deny that he has done that once or twice in the past few months, but this time he’s being honest when he says, “No, just doing the washing up.”

“What? You? Doing dishes?” Martyn feigns shock. “Who are you and what have you done to my little brother?”

“Replaced him,” Phil says. “Pod people are upon us. Don’t worry, if you haven’t met your double yet, you will soon.”

“Not a chance,” Martyn says. “Spain is too nice, I’m not giving it up.”

“Is that where you are now?” Phil asks. He’s gotten a few postcards here and there, but mostly pictures texted to him. In very Martyn fashion it’s been a mixture of huts on the beach and busy street corners and once a parrot on a yoga mat.

“It is,” Martyn says. “Corn’s out getting us some groceries. Just thought I’d check in with you since you’ve been so scarce.”

Maybe he’s screened more than just a couple of calls. Maybe it’s been most of them.

“Yeah,” he admits. “Sorry about that.”

“Is everything alright?” Martyn asks. “Last time we talked…”

Last time they properly talked he’d been a mess. He remembers it; he still feels it. That emotion still rests curled up in his chest. But some days it’s louder than others, and today it’s… manageable.

“I’m actually alright,” Phil says. “Things are… they’re good. Work is good. I saw Ben a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, yeah?” Martyn sounds intrigued by that.

“Yeah. He told me he’s seeing someone.”

“Oh.” The word holds an entirely different intonation.

“Yeah. It’s good, though. I’m happy for him. Like - really happy.” It feels odd to Phil to be talking about his ex with Martyn but he still wants Martyn to know. “We’re going to stay friends, like we always have been.”

“Can’t relate,” Martyn says. “My last ex wanted my head on a bloody pike.”

Phil snorts. It’s always hard for him to imagine Martyn in heavily dramatic situations but based on the number of girlfriends he had before Cornelia and the various ways those relationships ended, he’s sure he must have some stories he’s never told.

“My job is good too,” Phil says, going on with his life update. “My boss is lovely and there’s no pressure or deadlines or anything like that. And Dan… my flatmate, he’s good.”

“My old pal Dan,” Martyn says. Phil remembers how Dan actually met Martyn first and he grins. He wonders if Dan’s still disappointed he didn’t get the cooler Lester brother, but he has a hunch Dan is just fine with Phil in the end.

“My pal now,” Phil says smugly.

“That so?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” He turns away from the sink full of half washed dishes and leans back against the counter. “And before you ask, yes he knows I’m gay.”

Martyn huffs a laugh. “Wasn’t going to ask, mate.”

“Everyone else did.”

“Everyone else needs to mind their business.”

Phil smiles. “Yeah. They do.”

“So you’re really alright?”

Phil nods, then realizes Martyn can’t see him. “As much as I can be, I guess? Better though.”

“Better is good.”

“What about you?”

Martyn seems to take his time really considering the question. “Sometimes I think all this, the travelling and the music, it’s me trying to outrun… something.”

Phil swallows. Martyn never talks like this. “Yeah?”

“I dunno. Maybe I’m afraid to slow down and let it catch up.”

Just then the front door opens and Dan walks in drenched in sweat and looking… well, really fucking good, to be honest. Flushed and disheveled and masculine. Phil gives him a smile and an acknowledging little wave and Dan kicks his trainers off before mouthing “shower” and heading for the bathroom.

“I think that’s okay,” he says to his brother. “Standing still wasn’t really working for any of us, was it?”

“S’pose it wasn’t,” Martyn agrees.

Phil takes a deep breath, emboldened by feeling like the Lester brother with the answers, for once. He’s really not sure he earned the feeling, but he enjoys it all the same. “I’ve got a whole stack of photo albums here with me.”

“Yeah?”

“Haven’t been able to get through them yet.”

Martyn sucks his teeth in a show of sympathy.

“If I ever manage it…”

“Yeah,” Martyn says, catching onto Phil’s meaning. “Send me some.”

“Yeah?” Phil asks.

“Yeah. I don’t want to stand still, but I don’t wanna run, either. Not forever.”

“Can I even do that?” Phil asks. “Aren’t you glorified homeless right now?”

Martyn snorts. “Touché.”

“I’ll hold on to them for you,” Phil promises. “They’ll keep.”

“Maybe I’ll just come by and get them from you myself eventually,” Martyn says.

“Oh, are you coming back to London?” Phil asks. Martyn did have the flat here.

Phil wouldn’t hate it, really, living in the same town as his brother again.

“We haven’t decided where we’re settling down,” Martyn says. “If we settle down. But I reckon we’ll be coming through London eventually. Mum wants us to come back up for a visit when she’s back, too. All of us.”

Phil isn’t sure how he feels about visiting the house again.

Not that it matters, since his mum seems to be enjoying her extended holiday as much as Martyn and Cornelia are their nomadic lifestyle.

As much as Phil is enjoying his strange new life of a stable job and a flatmate he likes and an on-again off-again that’s finally and permanently off. His feet feel grounded here and maybe he needed that as much as Martyn and Cornelia needed to feel the opposite, untethered and free.

He hears the water start in the bathroom. His mind is momentarily flooded with images of sweaty clothes in a heap on the floor and long legs stepping into the shower, of water hitting curly hair and dripping down the neck and back of a person Phil has been having a harder and harder time keeping out of his thoughts.

“Thoughts?” Martyn nudges, startling Phil from his naked Dan mind palace.

“Um, what? Yeah. Sure. Maybe.”

“Clear as mud, that,” Martyn says. “You and the old bird still avoiding each other?”

“I don’t think she was ever avoiding me,” Phil says. “And anyway, no, not really. My head is probably about thirty nine percent less shoved up my arse than it was a month ago.”

“Huzzah! Soon you’ll be able to see sunlight!”

Phil laughs. “Shut up.”

“I’ve got to go, baby bro. Corny’s back.”

Phil clicks his tongue, turning back to the sink. “Always ditching me for a girl.”

“Corn’s not a girl, she’s a pixie. She’s a witch. A mountain lion.”

“Keep your weird role play ideas to yourself.”

He hears the faint chime of Cornelia’s voice through the phone, then. “Is that Phil?”

“Yeah,” Martyn says. “He’s judging you for being a furry.”

“Not her!” Phil protests. “You!”

“You’re not on speaker,” Martyn says. “She can’t hear you.”

“Yes I can,” she shouts.

Phil is grinning. He’s been so busy missing his dad that it hadn’t even really occurred to him to miss Martyn and Corn.

It’s a nice change of pace.

“I’m going to finish washing my dishes now,” Phil announces. “Eat something Spanish for me.”

“We will!” she says.

He can _hear_ the smile on Martyn’s face. “Bye Philly.”

Phil looks down at his phone after the call has ended. He really should finish those dishes, but he feels a kind of emotional momentum building inside of him after hearing Martyn’s voice and sharing a little more honestly than he had before.

So he decides to go into his bedroom and finish what he started.

-

Once he’s slid the last photo album into the top of his closet, he stands in the middle of the room.

No more boxes. Nothing left waiting to find a home. (Except for a few socks near his dresser, but really, those don’t count.)

He wants to go knock on Dan’s door, just wants to tell someone. But he’s not sure how long ago Dan finished his shower and the thought of Dan answering it shirtless… dripping wet… maybe even still in a towel…

Phil plays it safe and texts instead. _Finished unpacking, I’m officially moved in!!_ with a party blower emoji after.

Three dots jump along the bottom of the screen almost instantly.

_yay we should celebrate_

_How?_ , Phil replies.

“Strippers and blow, of course.” Dan responds out loud, standing in Phil’s doorway.

Phil jumps. “You can’t do that!”

“It’s actually ridiculous how easy you are to startle,” Dan says. He’s fortunately - or unfortunately, depending on whether Phil’s brain or his bits are shouting louder - dressed in comfy black joggers and an oversized shirt that looks like it would be impossibly soft to touch. “Celebration concept: pizza and a movie?”

“Not vegan pizza?” Phil asks hopefully.

Dan sighs. “Dominos.”

“Yes!” Phil does a little pizza shimmy dance. Then he stops. “I mean… we don’t have to.”

“That’s very sweet of you. But I promise I’m never going to be swayed to betray my own moral code just because your enthusiasm is endearing to me.”

“You think I’m endearing?”

Dan rolls his eyes. “Are we doing this or not?”

Phil follows him out into the lounge. “So what’re we watching?”

“You’re the one whose accomplishment we’re celebrating, reckon it’s only fair you pick.”

“I always pick.”

Dan sits on what’s become his end of the sofa, pulling his mobile from his pocket. “I’m choosing to let you pick.”

Phil sits on his end and puts his feet up on the coffee table like he owns the place. It seems so odd to him that he ever felt stiff and foreign on this couch. In this flat. “Can I choose _anything_?”

“No Blair Witch,” Dan says immediately.

“We are _going_ to watch that eventually. You need to just accept it.”

“What do you want on the pizza?” Dan asks, deftly ignoring Phil’s threat.

“Oh, I don’t care. Whatever you want.”

Dan shoots him a look. “That’s not true and we both know it.”

Phil smiles sheepishly. “Shut up. I dunno. What do you like?”

Again, he answers immediately. “The Sizzler.”

“What’s that?”

Dan looks wounded. “Okay, never mind. You don’t get a choice tonight. I’m introducing you to the Sizzler.”

“In that case… we’re watching Buffy,” Phil declares.

“That’s not a film.”

“It’s better than a film.”

“Oi.” Dan jabs his phone in Phil’s direction. “Them’s fighting words.” He types a few more things in and then pockets it, presumably after he’s placed the order. “Is it on Netflix?”

“I have it on DVD,” Phil says proudly.

“Of course you do.” Dan rolls his eyes, but Phil can see fondness there quite clearly.

-

Less than half an hour later they’ve got a box of pizza that smells like it should be illegal open in front of them, as well as potato wedges and about six different dips, a giant bottle of Pepsi, and the main menu of the first disk of the first season of Buffy ready and waiting on the tv.

Phil’s got the remote in his hand when he turns to look at Dan solemnly. “You’re not allowed to watch this like a critic.”

“Aren’t I?”

“No.” He is resolute. “If you tear this one apart, it will genuinely hurt me. I know this first season is kind of crap, but you’ve got to get through it for the rest of the seasons, which are not only amazing, but also, like, fundamental to my happiness as a person.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“It’s campy,” Phil warns. “That’s part of the charm.”

“Got it.”

“Some of the stuff probably won’t hold up to today’s wokeness standards.”

Dan smirks. “I’ve no doubt. It’s bloody Joss Whedon, isn’t it?”

“Hey.” Phil wags his finger, and for a flash of an instant he’s reminded of his mother. “None of that.”

“Alright, alright, Phil. I promise, I’ll be nice.”

Phil selects the first episode and presses play. “Just wait til Spike comes along. James Marsters’ face makes everything better.”

Dan shrugs. “I’m more partial to Oz, myself.”

A million thoughts explode themselves into Phil’s brain.

The one he actually gives voice to is, “I thought you hadn’t watched this!”

“I haven’t, not really. I’ve seen random episodes, though. I have like, a general knowledge of the main characters.”

Phil’s heart is beating hummingbird quick. It’s ridiculous. It’s embarrassing. “And you genuinely think Oz is fitter than Spike?”

Dan looks right at Phil. “I mean. Spike’s a cool character, but ultimately he’s your typical bad boy with a soft side, yeah? Bit of a played out trope, don’t you think?”

It doesn’t mean anything, Phil tells himself. Blokes can recognize other blokes’ attractiveness without actually feeling attraction. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything.

But it could. It might.

“Besides,” Dan continues. “I like a good ginge.”

Phil can hear Stevie’s voice in his head. He can hear his _own_ voice in his head, the voice of reason. He doesn’t know anything definitively, but he reckons it’s time to stop convincing himself that it’s impossible.

“Well,” Phil says, realizing Dan’s still looking at him. “For now we’ve got to make do with Angel.”

Phil grabs a slice of pizza and shoves half of it in his mouth as soon as he’s finished talking so he won’t be tempted to say anything else that may or may not be completely daft. Sometimes his mouth just does that without his brain’s permission.

“David Boreanaz is an acceptable consolation prize,” Dan says, and when Phil does risk another glance over, Dan’s looking down at his food.

-

They take a break between episodes two and three to clean up the empty boxes and all the various half and fully finished dip containers. There are a few reject wedges left that were underdone, but besides that they’ve managed to polish everything off.

“I’m so full,” Phil complains.

Dan grunts his agreement. “My system is going to be revolting against that mess of grease and cheese and meat for at least the next week.”

“Grease is one of my favourite food groups.” Phil opts to say nothing about the meat part. He’s already come to conclude that Dan’s veganism comes and goes in waves, and who is he to judge when it means he gets a pizza eating buddy sometimes?

“If I had a favourite food group I’d say mine was… carbs,” Dan says. “Mm. Carbs. Not that I want any right now. Right now I am literally a beached whale.”

Phil giggles. “What sounds do beached whales make?”

“I dunno, probably the whale speak equivalent of fuck off, I need a nap?”

“Probably so,” Phil agrees, then wiggles his overly-carbed person up a little bit on the sofa and grabs for the remote. “No naps, though! Just Buffy!”

He hits play and lets the familiar theme song music fill his ears.

They’re nearing what would be the first commercial break when Dan asks, “So is this something you did with your ex?”

Phil is hit with a wave of fond memories. “Yeah, but ages before we were actually together. When I was a teenager I was so obsessed with Buffy that every time people came over to hang out I’d put it on.”

“Wow. Weirdo,” Dan says. “So you two were friends like… before you dated?”

“Oh yeah,” Phil says. “I met him in year ten. We were awkward teenagers together, and neither of us knew the other was gay. It’s funny now thinking about it. We even kissed once at a spin the bottle game with both of us pretending we were just doing it for a laugh because that’s where the bottle landed.”

“Wow,” Dan says again. “That sounds like the plot of a movie.”

Phil shrugs. “I guess. Except, more like a 90s coming of age film and less like a romance. I think we were just each other’s safe person to explore things with once we had all our cards on the table.”

Dan’s face looks strangely blank. “Yeah, I guess having a safe space is really good for something like that.”

“It was. Up to a point.”

Dan cocks his head in question.

“I dunno. We’re both in our thirties now. It was nice to feel safe but I reckon at some point in the past decade we should have shit or got off the pot, you know? But it was just easy, so there was no need to try to find something that might’ve made us happier.”

“You _were_ happy though, yeah?”

“I mean…” Phil thinks about it for a minute. “Yeah. I was. Before my dad got sick.”

“My therapist says it’s best to avoid spending too much time regretting choices you made in the past. You can’t change it.”

“I guess.”

“She tells me that because I do it constantly,” Dan says. “So I’m not judging you. I’m just saying, I reckon it wasn’t a mistake to spend time with someone who made you feel safe and happy.”

Phil nods. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“Are you really not jealous he’s got a new boyfriend?”

“I don’t think so. He seemed really happy. All I really felt about that was glad for him.”

“Are you jealous in a different way?” Dan presses. “Like, jealous that he’s settling down with someone and you’re not?”

“Ouch.”

“Sorry.” Dan covers his mouth, then uncovers it again. “Sorry. I’m just projecting.”

Phil’s eyebrows lift up. “Did an ex of yours get a new boyfriend?”

Dan laughs. “I mean. Yeah. A long time ago. I think she’s married now. Or engaged or something, I dunno. I don’t really keep up with people I knew back then.”

Phil has about a hundred questions he’d like to ask. He starts with, “And were you jealous?”

Dan is gnawing on his lip. He nods. “Which is daft as fuck.”

“Why?”

“Because…” The gnawing intensifies. “I didn’t even want to be with her. I was relieved when we broke up.”

“Yeah but, was it like you said? You weren’t jealous because you wanted her but because you wanted… someone?”

Dan stops chewing his lip and moves on to the nail of his thumb. Phil should probably stop talking, but it feels like fair game since Dan was so blunt with his own questions.

“This was ages ago,” Dan says finally. “I don’t know what the fuck I wanted. Probably… probably I wanted my own safe space.”

Phil’s head barely has time to explode before Dan adds, “You know. Because my parents basically fucked off and left me to raise myself. And I went to an all boys school that was populated entirely with massive hormonal bullies. And it would have been nice to be with someone who gave a shit.”

Phil looks at him. Something big just happened, and he knows it, but he’s definitely not pushing it any further.

“That makes sense.” (He’s not sure it does.) “You deserved a safe space.” He pauses to give Dan time to say anything else that might be lingering in his mind, but Dan doesn’t say anything. He just keeps worrying the nail with his teeth.

“Well,” Phil says, deciding that he can’t sustain this sort of tone and still enjoy the show. “Do you know what I want right now?”

“What?” Dan asks, eyes darting over to Phil with a heaviness that Phil feels strangely intimidated by - intimidated maybe because he has no idea what Dan is thinking, and he’s afraid to guess.

“Dessert.”

Dan stares at him like he’s halfway cross and halfway relieved. “Dessert. After all of that pizza? Weren’t you just saying you were too full?”

“There’s a different stomach for dessert than there is for pizza,” Phil says, defending himself. “Do you want ice cream? I’m going to get some ice cream.”

Dan sighs but he’s grinning a bit now. “Fine, yeah. We can both have my non-dairy if you want, there's enough for two.”

“Oh, I’ve got some of my own,” Phil says, pausing the show. “I don’t want to eat yours up.”

“Mate, please. You’d be doing me a favor.”

Phil frowns at him. “What?”

“I’m just saying,” Dan says. “You weren’t wrong about being lactose intolerant, and I have to use the same bathroom as you. Sharing my ice cream is an act of self-preservation.”

Well, there’s one way to make sure that living with a guy he’s got a crush on ever doesn’t feel too much like a dream come true. Phil’s face heats up as he says, “Fine, but if it tastes like that pizza did, I’m eating my own and you just get to suffer!”

“In what world would pizza taste like ice cream?” Dan asks, shouting after Phil. He seems to have no desire to help Phil get their dessert, which works just fine for Phil.

He might need that moment to slowly let the mortification drain away.

He opens the door to the freezer, then jumps when Dan’s voice is right behind him.

“Sorry. That was shitty.”

Phil whirls around and slams the door shut without grabbing out the ice cream. “Jesus christ. I’m gonna sue you one of these days when my heart gives out.”

Dan ignores the joke completely. “I was deflecting.”

Phil leans back against the fridge, heart still hammering with residual fear and embarrassment. “It’s fine.”

“It’s really not. I don’t even know why I do that.”

Phil opens his mouth to respond, but Dan cuts him off.

“Actually, that’s a lie. I do know. But it’s still shitty.”

“I get it,” Phil says quietly.

“I don’t want any ice cream.” Dan scrubs a hand down over his face. “You can have mine if you want, or yours. I won’t take the piss again. I’m actually gonna go out for a bit.”

Suddenly all the food in Phil’s stomach feels like lead. “Oh.”

“Rain check on Buffy,” Dan says, and Phil can tell he’s aiming for levity. “I’m really enjoying it.”

“Sure,” Phil says. “If you want.”

“Yeah. Alright.” He lingers there a moment, the space between them charged with awkwardness. “See you later, then.”

“Okay.”

He watches Dan walk out of the kitchen and through the lounge and to the front door. He jams his feet into his shoes, opens the door, and lets it shut heavily behind him.

And then Phil is alone.

If he was younger, he’d probably assume he’d screwed up somehow. Or maybe even if he hadn’t learned a great deal about Dan over the past few weeks.

But he has, and not just in the words that Dan has spoken, but the ones he hasn’t. He’s learned a lot in the silence between words. And the old adage is true: actions speak louder than words. Phil’s sure it says something about him that he’s been so keenly attuned to Dan’s actions (even the most minute), but he’s accepted it at this point. And he knows that it’s not his fault that Dan got spooked by his own vulnerability.

He wants to make it right, even if he didn’t actually do anything wrong. His fingers itch to pull out his mobile and crack a joke, or pour his heart out and assure Dan that everything will be alright.

He does pull out his phone, but not until an hour has passed. Not until the tightness in his stomach has eased a bit. And instead of texting Dan, he rings his mum.

“Child. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Hey mum.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“Of course not. Sounds like you’ve got one, though.”

Phil sighs. “I’m just a little sad, I guess. Wanted to hear a friendly voice.”

“Has something happened?”

“No. Not really. I mean… kind of, I guess. I dunno.”

“Ah, well. That makes it all clear. Very articulate, that is.”

Phil laughs. “You’re the second person to tell me that today.”

“Who was the first?”

“Martyn.”

“You spoke to Martyn today?”

“Yeah. I also did dishes. I’m an actual adult, can you believe it?”

She laughs. “I truly cannot.”

“It’s overrated,” Phil says. “I prefer acting like a spoiled child.”

“You could come here.”

Phil frowns. “What?”

“Come to Florida. I’ll baby you. You’ve earned it.”

For just a moment, Phil is tempted. It’d be nice to have his mum make him food and coddle him and tell him nothing is his fault the way she’s always done.

Well, almost always.

But it’s that almost that has him crashing back into reality. Maybe she’s got her own regrets about shoving her baby boy (back) out of the nest, but she wasn’t wrong to do so and he’s not sure he wants to backslide on this newfound independence he’s gained.

Not just for the principle of it. But because he genuinely… doesn’t want to. He doesn’t need an escape from this life. He doesn’t want a holiday from showing up at Atelier every day.

He doesn’t want a break from Dan, no matter how much of a pummeling his anxiety has taken in the past hour.

“I can’t yet, mum,” he says. “I’ve just got a lot going on here.”

“Oh, do you, now?” she asks, voice a gentle teasing tone. “Well, do you want to tell your old mum about some of it?”

“You’re not old, mum,” he deflects.

“I’m old enough,” she says. “Old enough that my little duck doesn’t have the time to visit…”

He does laugh at that because she’s exaggerating her disappointment so much. “I think Auntie Roz can keep you busy.”

“She will,” Kath says. “Her family’s coming out for a visit next month, so if you change your mind you can visit with your cousins. Alex would love to see you again, I’m sure…”

“I’m more likely to get up to Manchester for a visit than Florida,” Phil says. “So maybe I’ll see him.”

Ian has been pressing him to come back for a weekend. He even plays dirty sometimes, putting Emily on the phone.

She makes a noise that she doesn’t quite agree but then moves on to telling him about their plans to take ‘the cousins’ to Gatorland for the first time.

He’s debating with her whether she should warn them about the gator mating spots first or not when the door opens.

He’s staring, he knows he’s staring, but Dan meets his gaze head on for a few seconds before he looks away to toe his trainers off at their normal spot in the entryway.

“Mum, I’ve gotta go,” he says.

“Oh—” She’s surprised, but she doesn’t try to argue him… for once. “Well, alright, then. The offer will stay open if you change your mind.”

Of course it will. He smiles and says, “Thanks, mum,” then hangs up.

Dan’s got his hands shoved into his pocket. “So.”

“So,” Phil says. He’s going to take a page out of his mum’s book and not push.

Dan seems to relax when he realizes that. “Buffy, then?”

“Oh, you want to watch more?” Phil asks.

“If that’s okay?” Dan’s voice is hesitant, hopeful.

Phil smiles. “Yeah. I think that sounds great.”


	18. Chapter 18

*

*

Phil's face timing with Emily when Dan comes in from what Phil assumes must be therapy.

"Oi, Lester—" Dan stops short when he sees the phone out. "Oh, busy?"

"Yeah," Phil says. "Video chatting with the Queen."

He turns it around so Dan can see Emily's face, lips smeared with her mum's lipstick wearing a fancy dress and a plastic tiara.

"I'm not the Queen, Phil!" Emily shrieks at top volume, which according to Ian is the only volume she knows lately. "I'm Sansa Stark and THE NORTH ALWAYS REMEMBERS!"

Dan actually snorts. "Phil, I don't know who this small human is, but she has exceptional taste."

Emily nods so sharply her tiara slips down her face. She pushes it back into place and then crosses her arms. "Thank you. You may live."

Phil grins fondly. "Alright, Ems—"

"Sansa."

"Sansa," he corrects. "Tell your dad I had to go but I'll ring back tomorrow."

"Fine." She sighs and then hangs up without waiting for a proper goodbye.

"Kids these days," Phil says.

"They're alright," Dan says. "They'll end up saving the world one day."

"Or creating their own throne of swords to sit upon."

"Maybe both," Dan says.

Phil thinks of Emily and can't disagree. "How'd it go?" he asks, then immediately wonders if that's inappropriate to ask. He's never been to a therapist, he doesn't know much about therapy etiquette.

Luckily Dan doesn't seem all that offended. He just shrugs and says, "Same old shiz. Daddy issues, mummy issues, intimacy issues, and repression."

"Oh, well," Phil says. "If that's all."

"I have work." Dan groans. "You wanna tag along?"

"You have to leave for work?" That's new.

"Yeah, it's a screening. I try to avoid those, and most critics actually seek them out, so I get out of it most of the time. But apparently they want my 'acerbic wit' for this one."

"What does that even mean?" Phil asks.

"That the film is shit and I'm best at being funny while incinerating something? Just a guess."

Phil laughs. "Alright, I can see that."

"Anyway. I can bring a guest, if you're interested?"

"Sure, I've never been to a screening before!" Phil says. "Is it fancy?"

"Not remotely. It's not like a premiere or anything. Just a normal cinema showing except every other person in the cinema has a high likelihood of being a horse's ass."

"Oh." Phil is mildly, mildly let down.

"Pick and mix selection is top notch, though."

"I'm sold," Phil says.

Dan doesn't outwardly have much of a reaction but by now Phil can read Dan's micro expression enough to know pleased when he sees it.

-

It really is a fantastic pick and mix selection. The options overwhelm Phil - row upon row of brightly colored sugar-laden snacks.

"Alright," Dan says, with all the intensity of a man riding into battle. "You have to go for the large cup and then you can pop the bottom out."

Dan grabs the biggest cup and demonstrates, pushing on the bottom until it bows out slightly.

"Oh my god. Dan, this is life changing."

"I know." Dan turns to the display. "Now, we want to go for the high value sweets, right? Really get our money's worth."

"Are we sharing?" Phil asks.

"Fuck no. Get your own, bitch. I'm just bestowing my knowledge upon you. You're welcome, by the way."

Phil laughs and grabs a cup of his own, pushing down on the bottom. He pushes too enthusiastically and it rips. "Um. Oops?"

Dan rolls his eyes and tosses the cup in the bin then grabs another and fixes it for Phil, handing it over. "Here, you actual oaf."

"Thanks!" Phil grins at him. "Alright, now..."

Phil reaches for the scoop on the first clear plastic bin that catches his eye. Dan grabs his hand by the wrist. "I realize impulsivity is your middle name, but try some restraint, please. Strategy, remember? What are your must haves?"

"Fizzy cola bottles," Phil says. "Watermelon slices. Jelly dolphins."

"We are definitely not sharing," Dan says. "You gelatin obsessed heathen."

"Do I want to know why being gelatin obsessed is bad?" Phil asks.

Dan cuts him a side eye. "Probably not."

"Ignorance is bliss," Phil agrees, watching Dan go for the sort of sweets Phil usually avoids. Parma violets and love hearts and rainbow drops. "You can fit so many rainbow drops in there!"

"Exactly," Dan says. "Strategy. If I eat them one at a time this will last a week."

"Mine will last approximately seven minutes," Phil warns him, dumping in some sour belts.

"I've seen you eat before," Dan says. "Seven minutes is a generous estimate."

"It's because we're getting popcorn as well. Right? We are, aren't we?"

-

They do. Of course they do. Popcorn is a sacred part of their movie watching tradition, and cinema popcorn has a certain magic that the microwave shit will never be able to replicate.

“I kind of can’t believe you’re a film critic and you’re obsessed with me and this is the first time you’re bringing me along to an actual premiere.”

“One: go fuck yourself with a rusty spoon, I am not obsessed with you. You’re just always there. Like a dog. Or a fly.”

Phil giggles through his mouthful of buttery salty goodness. He feels a little bit drunk, which makes no sense at all. Maybe he’s on a sugar high. “You love dogs.”

“I do not love flies.”

They’re sat near the back of the theatre, waiting. The lights are still on and people are still trickling in to find their seats. Phil had been warned that once the previews start, he is banned from speaking on penalty of death.

“I take my cinema going experience deadly seriously,” he’d said. “I have been known to threaten to snitch on people who talk or use their phones once the movie’s started.”

But the movie hasn’t started, so Phil leans in closer to Dan’s space and buzzes like a fly.

Dan places his entire giant palm against Phil’s face and pushes it away. Phil snort laughs. It’s embarrassing how happy he feels. He needs to get a grip on himself.

“Second,” Dan continues. “I told you, this is in no way a premiere. It’s just a regular ass screening of a film that is definitely going to be subpar.”

“I can’t wait to read your review,” Phil says, settling back in his seat and inhaling another handful of popcorn. “It’s definitely more fun to read you ripping something apart than gushing about how brilliant it is.”

Dan turns to him with genuine curiosity. “Oh?”

Phil shrugs. “You’re funny. You’re… whatsit… ascorbic?”

Dan smirks. “Oh my god, you idiot. Acerbic, I told you..”

“That’s the one.”

“Don’t you have a literal masters degree in the English language?”

“Don’t you have… your mum?”

Dan’s smile gets even wider. “Weak. Jesus, that was weak.”

“Your mum’s weak!”

“She’s actually not,” Dan casually says. “She could probably take you. She’s got like, actual biceps from all the weird yoga and massage stuff she does.”

“Oh no,” Phil says. “Do I need to be scared of your mum?”

“Maybe.” Dan grins. “I mean, probably not, but if it keeps you in line I will use your fear as a weapon.”

Phil’s about to reply when the cinema darkens around them. He opens his mouth anyway, just to tease Dan, but the glare he gets silences him right up.

He’s still smiling as he settles into his seat and faces forward

-

“Dan, that film was _amazing_ ,” Phil says, voice enthusiastic. Two seconds later they step out of the cinema and his face scrunches up, unprepared for the assault of sunlight after so many minutes in darkness.

“You cannot actually be serious.”

“It had everything! It had dragons and magic and secret agents and a love story—”

“You mean a misogynistic encounter in which the woman is given almost no actual autonomy and used as a prop for the male lead?”

“You’re not a romantic at all, are you?”

Dan rolls his eyes. “Sure, I just prefer my romance with consent and a lack of misleading prelude.”

“Hey, hold on.” Phil grabs Dan’s shoulder and starts to feel up and down his arm and over his back. He doesn’t stop to think that maybe Dan doesn’t want to be touched until it’s too late. He’s always had a weird habit of being too grabby with friends. “I can’t find it.”

“Can’t find what?” Dan holds his shoulders weirdly and his face is doing a funny thing.

Phil ignores the pounding in his heart and finishes out the joke in what he hopes is a very normal tone of voice. “The off switch for your critic brain.”

It must work because Dan snorts out a laugh. “Phil, it’s literally my job, I need it to be in critic brain mode.”

“You have to at least talk about how cool the dragon was,” Phil says, dropping his hands to his side.

“Hey,” Dan says, pulling up short.

Phil’s heart does another painful double pump. “What?”

But then Dan points at the shopfront they’re stood before. “Isn’t this where you work?”

Phil looks, and sure enough, Stevie’s shop seems to materialize out of nowhere. “Uh, yeah. It is.” He’s a little bewildered by his own lack of awareness, but he tells himself it can’t have anything to do with how much Phil was enjoying the firmness of the muscle tone under Dan’s shirt.

Dan steps closer to the window, looking in. “Hey, is that Stevie?”

Phil steps in closer too, right next to Dan, and squints against the glare of sunlight against the glass. “Yeah. That’s her.”

“She doesn’t look like I imagined,” Dan murmurs, and Phil’s genuinely not sure if he meant to say it out loud.

“You’ve imagined her?” Phil asks.

Dan looks at him. “Um. I guess. I dunno. Just subconsciously I guess.”

“What did you imagine?” Phil is suddenly soothed. He’s not the only weird one between the two of them. He likes the reminder.

“Shut up, I dunno.” He punches Phil’s shoulder very lightly. “Shut up.”

Phil smiles. “Okay weirdo.”

“Who’s that next to her?” Dan asks.

Phil squints in again. He hadn’t noticed anyone else, but he does now, a tall black man with glasses too big for his face and an arm draped round Stevie’s shoulders.

“Huh,” Phil says. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s her boyfriend.”

“You should introduce me,” Dan announces.

“What?”

“I’d like to meet her. I’ve had to listen to you talk about her enough.”

Phil stands up straighter, considering. “I guess she’s had to listen to me talk about you a bunch as well.”

Dan cocks an eyebrow. “That so?”

Before Phil can bluster up a defensive response, the door to the shop pushes open and Stevie says, “Oi. Stalkers. It’s not a zoo. Come in and stop being weird.” She holds the door open for them, and Phil gives Dan a quick sheepish look before heading inside.

“This is Dan,” he says, gesturing behind him, hoping his face isn’t too red.

“Oh, the flatmate!” She opens her arms and pulls Dan into a hug. It looks hilarious as Dan absolutely _towers_ over her, but he smiles and murmurs an embarrassed hello and Phil’s chest feels tight and warm. “I’ve heard so much about you,” she says.

“Ditto,” Dan says.

The man behind the counter clears his throat.

“Oh, boys, this is Théo.”

He waves. “Allo.” His accent is much thicker than Stevie’s.

Phil makes a mental note to tell Stevie how fit he is the next time they don’t have an audience.

Before anything can get awkward, Stevie announces, “Alright well. Let’s close up and go get drinks, yeah?”

“Drinks?” Phil isn’t thrown by Stevie being a bit bossy, he’s used to it. But he glances to Dan to make sure Dan isn’t trying to transmit some psychic signals to Phil to say he doesn’t want to.

“Unless you had other plans…” There’s a mischievous twinkle to her voice that Phil sincerely hopes Dan doesn’t read anything into.

Dan meets his eyes and does a tiny little shrug that Phil interprets as him being fine with it.

“We’re free,” Phil says. “As long as you’re buying?”

She throws back her head and laughs. “Sure, eh? We’ll put it on the company tab.”

-

The bar that Stevie and Théo lead them to is a different vibe from that one he’d gone to with Dan while Adrian was in town. It’s not that it’s nicer, exactly - just different. Every wall is a different color, the tables and chairs and stools at the bar are all mismatched, This one looks like it’s being inhabited by a far artsier crowd, and half the people in it seem to know Stevie.

She sees them to a table then says the first round is on her and swans off to the bar.

“Is she a, you know…” Dan’s voice drops dramatically. “ _Extrovert_?”

Phil snickers. “She is. I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

“And what about him?” Dan nods toward Théo.

“Actually never met him before.” Phil watches the way he stands behind her, the way she leans back into him like she’s not giving it a second though.

It’s sweet.

“Well, I’ll take your word that they’re not gigantic assholes,” Dan says.

“What, don’t want competition?” Phil elbows Dan.

“Oi!” Dan elbows him right back and they get into a small elbow battle that ends in Dan cheating by poking Phil in the side and Phil screeching and trying to shy away so hard he almost falls out of his chair.

“Les gars, les gars,” Stevie says. “Don’t start the sexy wrestling before I’ve gotten my seat!”

“Sexy wrestling.” Dan snorts derisively. “More like Phil almost concussing himself.”

Théo has a beer in his hand but Stevie passes Dan and Phil each a cocktail that matches hers, They’re pink and delicate looking with some sort of fruit on the bottom. It’s something Phil would have desperately wanted to order himself but probably not had quite the confidence.

“Rose noir,” she says, sipping hers and then letting out a sound of pure happiness. “Vermouth and blackberry.”

Phil takes a testing sip but finds he likes it. He looks at Dan to check in on him but gets immediately distracted by way Dan’s lips are pursing against the rim of the glass and the ripple in his neck as he swallows.

He quickly looks back ahead and hopes Stevie didn’t catch that. He thinks he’s safe - she’s waiting on Dan’s response to the drink.

Théo, on the other hand, is looking right at him. Phil takes another, bigger drink. “I’m not sure I’ve ever had Vermouth.”

“You haven’t lived,” she says.

“My mum and dad used to have some in their liquor cabinet,” Dan says. “But when I’d sneak into it and steal something I went more for the rum and vodka.”

“In France we’ve got taste,” Théo says.

Stevie swats his shoulder, but Dan laughs. “I definitely didn’t have a lick of taste when I was fifteen and sicking up vodka coolers at bush parties.”

Phil looks horrified. “I barely even drank anything at all until I started uni.”

“Oh Phil.” Dan tilts his head to the side and looks at Phil with an expression that’s equal parts pity and fondness. “You’re so precious.”

Phil’s mouth drops open in embarrassment. “Hey! You know my mum was overprotective.”

“Sure sure, blame the mum. It’s not at all because you’re a delicate cinnamon bun who needs to be protected.”

Stevie throws her arm around the back of Phil’s neck and laughs. Théo is smiling and Dan looks pleased as hell with the thoroughness of his piss taking.

Phil huffs. “Sorry that I was awkward and mousy. Not everyone can be as cool and good looking as you lot.” He gestures widely to include each of them. “Frankly, it’s annoying.”

“I spent half my time playing Runescape on the family computer,” Dan says. “I was absolutely not cool.”

“Moi non plus,” Théo says. “I was a foot taller than everyone else. Also I was so confused about my sexuality. I found it difficult to talk to anyone in a meaningful way, which made it impossible to make friends.” He reaches out to pat Phil’s arm. “You weren’t the only awkward one.”

Stevie flicks her hair back over her shoulder. It looks like a shiny black waterfall. “Well I’ve been a goddess since day one.” She picks up her glass and manages to keep a poker face even with everyone’s eyes on her - for a moment, anyway. Then she snorts into her drink.

“I would’ve believed it,” Phil says.

“I worked hard to get to this version of myself,” she says, leaning back in her seat.

Phil says, “I can’t picture you ever being awkward.”

“It’s hard not to be when you grow up a fat girl. People don’t give you a lot of choice.”

Phil is stunned silent. He’s never heard her refer to herself that way.

Théo puts his hand on her knee.

She gives Phil a generous smile. “Don’t look like that, mon chou. It’s fine. I’m just saying, I don’t think any of us were spared the pain of not fitting in when we were younger.”

Dan seems stunned too, but Phil realizes he’s not staring at Stevie - he’s staring at Théo and chewing on his bottom lip. Phil has to replay the conversation in his mind to think what might have put that Dan’s look on his face.

Then it hits him. No - not _hits_ him. It’s more like it… softly lands in his mind, a stray thought that isn’t sure exactly where it’s supposed to be.

Théo is bisexual. Phil already knew that.

But Dan didn’t.

Of course, Phil immediately starts to reason, maybe it was the other thing - the thing about being a foot taller than everyone else. Dan’s a pretty tall guy too, it might be… that.

Phil takes another drink of his posh cocktail.

(Doesn’t really make sense that Dan would still be mulling over Théo’s height a couple minutes later.

But, Phil tells himself, sometimes things just don’t make sense.)

“I feel like it’s been hard to get to this version of me, too,” Phil says. He glances at Dan, then at Stevie. “Even though this doesn’t really feel like a complete version of me over. In fact, it sort of feels like I had to start over at thirty-three. But I guess, you know, as a teenager I would have had a difficult time even imagining sitting around a table with people who all knew I was gay and didn’t hate me for it. I wasn’t out to any of my friends the whole time I was a teenager. It was terrifying to me, even though I actually don’t think my friends would have ever been tossers about it. I just… didn’t _know_. It’s always been hard for me to take risks like that. I like a guaranteed outcome. I actually kept the same hairstyle for almost a decade just because - that was the me that everyone knew, and it felt like things in my life were okay, so if I changed even something silly like cutting my fringe off maybe it would change everything.”

Phil isn’t sure where that speech came from but he realizes as soon as he’s finished talking that he’s glad he made it.

“Wait,” Dan says, looking at him. “You had a fringe? I need to see this.”

Phil bursts out with laughter.

“Mate,” Stevie says. “I concur. Show us, Phil, show us.”

He pulls his phone out after five minutes of relentless badgering and scrolls through his instagram account to find the best photo of himself he can find. He cringes a little at the old hairstyle, but when he finally shows it to his audience, there is surprisingly little teasing.

“It kind of suited you,” Stevie says.

Dan nods. “Honestly, this is exactly how I wanted my hair when I was like eighteen. I had a fringe too but it never looked this good.”

Phil gapes. “Show me immediately.”

It takes even more goading to get Dan to relent than it had for Phil, but eventually Phil and Stevie wear him down. Théo remains politely uninvested, seemingly content to laugh at the rest of them and sip his drink with his hand on Stevie’s thigh.

Dan’s cheeks are already a touch ruddy when he turns his phone around to show them a photo of himself stood in front of a floor length mirror. He’s dressed in black from head to toe, eyes cast down, the lighting throwing stark shadows across his face.

He looks good. So good that Phil forgets for a good ten seconds that he’s meant to be taking note of the hair and not the fact that Dan looks long and lean and exactly like someone that Phil wants to climb like a fucking tree.

“So serious,” Stevie says.

Dan smiles sheepishly, pocketing his phone. Phil makes a mental note to stalk all of Dan’s social media accounts later. He has done before, but clearly not thoroughly enough.

He feels genuinely shaken. It’s not like Dan looks any less gorgeous now; if anything he looks even better, with the soft curls and the crinkles around his eyes and the embarrassed smile that lingers long after he’s forced a change of subject. It just feels jarring to have such visceral confirmation that Dan has apparently always been someone who would turn Phil’s head.

It might be a problem. Especially since Dan is already someone he cares for. Side by side with that desire to climb Dan like a tree is a desire to tuck him into bed on long nights when he hasn’t slept or have breakfast with him in the mornings or just… do all those domestic bits of having a partner that were always what he liked most about Ben. They didn’t even have that all the time - they never lived together properly. But Ben moved off for uni and when he’d visit he’d always stay with Phil, and a few times when they’d go off on holidays with their friends it always just seemed easier on the bank accounts and a nice opportunity for closeness to stay together.

“Oi.” Dan elbows him roughly. “Where’d you go, space boy?”

“Space boy?” Phil asks.

“Yeah, your head was off in space somewhere,” Dan says.

“I like that,” Stevie says. “Fits him. He does tend to wander sometimes, doesn’t he?”

“You’re one to speak,” Théo says, voice drenched in easy fondness. “You live among the stars.”

“Well, maybe that’s what makes Phil and I such friends.” Stevie smiles at Phil and Phil has that clenched heart feeling again, so happy that he met her.

“Sorry,” Phil says, referring to Dan’s original piss taking. “What did I miss?”

“Stevie asked if you want another drink. She’s going to get us another round.”

“You don’t actually have to buy all the drinks,” Phil tries to protest.

She just laughs. “I know what you make, mon chou.”

Dan snorts. He’s leaning back now, relaxed.

“Fine, fine.” Phil gives in. “Yes, another, please.”

“Same or a surprise?”

“Surprise,” Phil automatically says.

It’s partially because he wants a surprise and partially because he thinks Stevie really, really enjoys making people try new things. She even takes an extra moment to argue Dan into accepting another surprise drink as well.

Théo gets up and follows her without even asking if he should.

“They’re nice,” Dan says, watching them walk away. “Like, really nice.”

“Yeah?” Phil feels proud, like it’s some kind of personal accomplishment.

“Your friends are a lot cooler than any friends I’ve ever had.”

Oh. He doesn’t like that sad, wistful note in Dan’s voice.

“You know she’s basically adopted me in, right?” Phil asks. “Like a stray puppy. And she’s looking at you the same way now, so I think you might just want to get used to being her pet.”

“... kinky,” Dan says.

“Ew, not like that!” Phil laughs and makes a grossed out face. “No thank you.”

Dan gives him a considering look. “I bet you go in for some kinky shit, Lester. You have furry energy.”

Phil can feel his mouth going all goldfish-y, just opening and closing stupidly with no words escaping.

“You’ve got a whole drawer in that new dresser of yours full of collars and leashes and tail plugs, I just know it.”

“ _You_ do!” Phil splutters. “You seem to know a lot about it!”

Dan just laughs and laughs until Stevie and Théo return. Stevie takes in the scene of Dan cackling and Phil with his beet red face, then does a little thing with her eyebrow that Phil knows means… something.

She’s too observant. He takes the drink she offers and gulps half of it down without even tasting it, his heart suddenly racing like he’s been caught out.

Which is ridiculous. There’s nothing to catch.

Dan reaches up and wipes at his eyes, still coming down from how hard he was laughing. His dimple is out in full force, his cheeks rosy. He looks so happy that Phil can’t help smiling. He can’t help _looking_.

And Stevie is looking at Phil. He’s already bracing himself for the questions he’s sure she’s going to have for him tomorrow.

-

“I need to jot some notes down before I forget them,” Dan says as he turns the key and unlocks their front door.

 _Their_ door. Even the thought makes Phil warm. The door to the flat they share. Their flat. His and Dan’s.

He needs to stop getting drunk with Dan. It’s making all these pesky _feelings_ too goddamn easy to feel.

He kicks his shoes off clumsily. “Okay. Fine. Ditch me. I see how it is.” He wanders over to the sofa and collapses onto it heavily. He didn’t drink enough to warrant how loose he feels, but it’s been a good day. A good day in a series of good days, and maybe it’s going to his head a little bit.

He’s surprised when Dan sits next to him, laptop in hand. “Christ, you’re dramatic.” He puts his feet up on the table and stretches his legs out. “I’m not ditching you. Just saying I can’t watch anything real until I write at least a bit. Don’t wanna forget everything.”

Phil tries not to smile too hard. “Just write that the movie was awesome.”

Dan rolls his eyes. “This is why I’m the critic and you’re the shopboy.”

“Oi,” Phil says, with absolutely zero heat. He pushes at Dan’s leg with his foot. “I’m a retired video editor.”

“Mhm,” Dan hums, opening up a word doc. “Put something on the tv to distract yourself. This article is gonna pay half the rent for this month.”

Phil puts on Buffy, ignoring Dan’s snort. “Hey,” he says, defending his favorite. “It’s good.”

“Good,” Dan repeats, mildly patronizing. “Sure it is, bub.”

Bub. That sends a warmth curling through Phil that he doesn’t want to look too deep into.

“I can’t help it,” Phil says. “I have a deep emotional attachment to this show.”

“I can’t believe you were even allowed to watch this as a kid,” Dan says. “That would have scared the shit out of me.”

“Hey!” Phil adjusts his legs, curling one of them under him and using the other to poke Dan in the thigh with his toes. Yeah, he’s definitely still a bit drunk. “I was ten when it started airing, not that much of a kid.”

“Oh, right, I forgot,” Dan says. “You’re a senior citizen. I’m really doing a public service by renting a room to you. Helping out our elders, and all.”

Phil kicks harder and Dan just laughs at him. “I hate you.”

“Sure you do.” Dan falls silent for a while longer as he works on his review.

Phil really should just let him work. That’d be the nice thing to do. But his mouth seems disconnected from his brain. “Besides,” Phil says. “Buffy basically slayed monsters for me for all of my teenage years.”

“Hmm?” Dan asks absently.

“I mean.” Phil pulls his legs back up close to his body, still lounging comfortably but no longer feeling like he’s in Dan’s space. “I talked about her so much no one really ever thought there was a chance I was gay.”

Dan stops typing and looks at Phil. “Really?” He asks. “It was that easy for you?”

Phil laughs. “I don’t know that I’d say it was easy. I still spent ages twelve to eighteen basically walking around feeling like I had this major secret and I was going to accidentally spill it all to everyone and my whole life would be ruined and my parents would hate me.”

“So how long have you been out, then?” Dan asks.

“To my parents? They didn’t figure it out until after university. I didn’t even tell them, actually. They just thought Ben and I had rekindled our friendship after uni and I was spending loads of time with him because we were like… really best mates. Then they heard from someone else in town that Ben was gay and suddenly they got an idea.”

“Wow. That sounds shit,” Dan says. He’s still looking at his screen but he’s frowning now. “So you got outed?”

“I don’t think I’d have said it like that,” Phil says. “And… well, it was the right idea they got, you know. And it saved me having to actually tell them.”

“But they were okay with it when they did know?” Dan asks.

“Yeah. It was weird for a while. I don’t think my dad knew what to do with me. But they got over it. But they loved me. All the things I was afraid of when I was a teenager weren’t really true. My parents still loved me.”

“Lucky,” Dan says, almost under his breath.

Phil notices that tone. Phil… he _knows_ that tone. He lived that tone for a terrified, closeted decade of his life. He still does sometimes, every time he has to come out to someone new.

But he’s still half drunk. Maybe he shouldn’t read into it.

Still, he says: “Yeah, I am. Having people around you that get it and don’t care is a really lucky thing.”

Dan doesn’t respond to that beyond a nod of the head, and then he turns his attention back to his laptop. Phil decides not to push it any further. For one, Dan’s technically working, and for another, he’s recently made it pretty clear that he’s got boundaries about this stuff. Phil wants to be someone Dan trusts, not someone who makes him feel uncomfortable, or god forbid, pressured.

He watches half an episode while Dan types away and they don’t speak and it’s fine. It’s nice. Comfortable. Phil’s got his head tilted to the side, resting against the soft back cushion of the sofa, his legs tucked up beside him. He’s just thinking about getting up to find a snack when Dan’s voice cuts through the sleepy stillness in the space between them.

“So. Stevie’s boyfriend.”

Phil tries not to seem too eager to hear whatever Dan has to say. He turns his head Dan’s way. “Yeah?”

“He’s…” He’s still looking at his computer. “Is he queer?”

“Yeah. Bisexual.”

Dan nods a few too many times for Phil not to read at least a little bit into it. “That’s cool.”

“It is,” Phil agrees. “Don’t know much about him, but he seems nice.”

“Stevie’s cool.”

Phil smiles. “Yeah. The coolest.”

“Is she queer too?”

“No,” Phil says. “Her only apparent flaw.” He’s watching Dan’s reactions like a hawk now.

Dan snorts quietly. “It would seem.”

On screen in front of them, Xander walks around a pool in a speedo. “This was definitely my favorite episode when I was sixteen.”

Dan looks up and snorts again, more loudly. “Hornball. Of course it was.”

“Look at him!” Phil gestures. “Can you blame me?”

And Dan… actually does look. He looks long and hard, until Xander isn’t even on the screen anymore. Then he swallows and looks down and says, “I guess not.”

Phil wants so badly to say more, to ask more. To find out if this really is his overactive imagination seeing things where they aren’t or if there’s something to the way Dan’s eyes lingered on the screen.

But he also doesn’t want to make Dan go places Dan’s not ready to go, and maybe it’s also a little that he doesn’t want to hear an answer that breaks this tentative feeling growing in his chest. So for tonight he just faces forward and watches the show.


	19. Chapter 19

*

*

“You’re crushing on your flatmate.”

He barely even winces. He knew it was coming.

Stevie is sat on the counter beside the register, legs crossed underneath her, elbows digging into her knees, all her considerable focus directed right at Phil as she makes her accusation.

Well. It’s an observation, isn’t it? But he’s not about to go admitting anything to her. 

“Kindly bugger off.”

She grins. “I knew it.”

“You know nothing. I said nothing.”

“You couldn’t keep your eyes off him last night.” Then she gasps very quietly. Phil can practically see the lightbulb over her head. “Are you already dating? Are you boys together?”

“No!”

He’s being way too defensive. He’s a bloody caricature of feigned innocence. 

“You like him.” It’s not a question.

“I like him,” Phil says. “What’s not to like? He’s funny and clever and kind.”

“And gorgeous,” Stevie points out.

“I don’t need my friends to be gorgeous.” Phil pretends to rearrange a display of paint thinner. “Take you for example.”

“Va te fair foutre!” she shrieks, laughing.

“I assume you just cursed me out, but I don’t know, so I can pretend you’re apologizing for assuming that just because I’m gay I have a crush on my attractive flatmate.”

“Or perhaps because you had hearts in your eyes whenever you looked at him yesterday. Which was a lot, by the way.”

Phil rolls his eyes. “We’re just friends.”

She nods. “Completely.”

He suppresses a sigh. He’s not sure why he’s even bothering to lie. Maybe because if he says it out loud it’ll be a lot more real than it feels when it only lives inside his head. “He’s a good friend. And a good flatmate. We get on. I’m not trying to mess with that.”

Her expression softens instantly. “Mon chou.” She reaches a hand out to him, and he doesn’t bother trying not to go over to her and let her squeeze his hand. 

“It’s fine,” he says. “I’m not, like… pining. He’s just…”

She cocks an eyebrow. “Straight, right?”

He just looks into her dark brown eyes. They’re darker than Dan’s.

Christ. He’s really always thinking about Dan lately. Fuck.

Her eyes get a little wider. “Wait, he isn’t?”

“I don’t know,” Phil says quietly. “He hasn’t said anything, but—” He cuts himself off and clears his throat. “I shouldn’t talk about him like this. It’s not my business. It’s not a puzzle for us to put together.”

“I’m sorry,” she says. “You’re right.”

He looks at her a little longer. “He might not be.”

She nods. 

And they leave it at that. 

-

Phil is tired as he walks home. 

It’s strange, he thinks, how different this job is from his last. Sitting at a desk most of the day gave him different kinds of aches and pains. His back twinged a lot and his shoulders would get sore from how many hours a day he was frozen in position with his hand on a mouse, moving endless shots around to get the best edits possible, to make the best product possible. More often his mind would feel sore just from the monotony of the same walls surrounding him every day, the same view out of the tiny window in the breakroom, the same conversations with his co-workers. 

He wasn’t unhappy there. He just thinks, looking back, that he wasn’t actually happy either. He didn’t have the capacity to imagine a job that engaged him on different levels. It paid his bills and gave him enough money to go off on holidays with his mates and plenty of leave for trips to Florida with his parents and he never had to worry, really. Like a lot of things in his life, the old job was just… comfortable. It was something he was used to and he’s not sure he’d have ever changed that situation on his own, without anything life-altering to prompt it. 

Now he works in a place with walls splashed in ever-changing colors, art pieces that come and go as they’re bought and sometimes even just at Stevie’s whim. He sees a stream of different faces in and out of the store and he’s constantly learning things; the names of different artists and styles and what brushes do what and no one ever told him there are _that many_ different shades of blue, he just had to discover that on his own through ordering inventory. 

And tonight - like most nights now - when he walks home it’s with sore feet and the kind of physical exhaustion that makes him sleep better at night. He wants to take his shoes off and he wants to put something comfortable on and he wants to… 

He wants to settle down and watch some television with Dan or play some video games with Dan or just talk over dinner with Dan. 

God, he does have a crush, and it’s a nasty little bugger that’s already burrowed itself deep down in his head. 

He stares up at the sky. A pigeon sits on a light post. It’s not Gerald, unfortunately. He could use a Gerald chat right now. A chat with someone who won’t judge him as he opens up a bit about those frustrating intrusive thoughts that always happen when he has a crush on a ( _maybe not_ ) straight guy and if the _maybe not_ is just wishful thinking. And whether this isn’t even about Dan at all? Would he feel this way about any attractive man giving him attention in his life right now? 

He really wants to say no. He thinks the answer is no. He thinks this is just about Dan. But that’s the intrusive part; the same voice in his mind that told him it was wrong and _he_ was wrong every time he got kissed by a mate at spin the bottle and went home floating on clouds. 

The short walk alone with his thoughts still has him feeling heavier by the time he walks in the door, but he’s pleasantly distracted by the smell of tomato sauce. 

He kicks his shoes off and stands in the kitchen and his heart squeezes a bit because Dan’s standing there over a pot, staring down at it and stirring with concentration. 

“Smells good,” Phil says. 

Dan’s head jerks up and his face breaks into the best sort of smile, like he’s actually so happy to see Phil. “I didn’t hear you come in.” 

“I’m sneaky like that,” Phil says. 

“You’re sneaky like a moose,” Dan shoots back, and that smile deepens even more and the dimple pops out on his cheek. 

_So fucked_ , Phil thinks. _I’m so fucked._

“I can’t even argue with that.” He walks over to Dan and leans against the counter. “What are we eating?”

Dan doesn’t even take the piss about Phil’s assumption that he’s cooking enough for the both of them and that they’ll be eating it together. “Just pasta.”

“And what are we watching?” Phil asks. His pulse is a bit fast as he says it, his musings from the walk home still fresh in his mind. He should probably back off, he just… doesn’t want to. “Got any good screeners waiting in the wings?”

Dan starts to say something along the lines of “I don’t think so,” but he interrupts himself with a shriek. It all happens so quickly that Phil doesn’t understand at first, but suddenly Dan is jumping back from the stove and yanking his shirt up so Phil has an unencumbered view of his stomach and most of his chest.

It takes altogether too long for him to tear his eyes away from the sight to ask Dan if he’s alright.

Dan’s stood there slightly dazed, holding the front of his shirt away from his body like it’s got teeth, and finally Phil notices that he’d managed to spill a huge glob of piping hot sauce down it.

“Did you get burnt?” Phil asks. “Do you need ice?” His traitorous eyes have migrated back to stare at the trail of hair under Dan’s navel.

He knows in this moment for sure that the universe isn't random. And whatever higher forces are at work governing the happenings of his life— they aren’t benevolent. They want him to suffer.

Phil can’t be turned on while his flat mate is stood there with a burnt stomach. He just can’t.

Dan shakes his head. “I don’t think so. But fuck, that’s hot. I just need to—” 

He pulls his shirt off. Right there in the middle of their kitchen. 

Phil feels like he’s been doused in gasoline. Dan has pale skin and dark nipples and a surprisingly small amount of chest hair and no abs but a hint of definition in his pecs and really broad shoulders, like seriously what the fuck the sexiest shoulders Phil’s ever seen and—

“Can you take the pot off the hob?” Dan says. “I’m gonna go get changed.” 

Phil only just barely remembers to grab a cloth to cover his hands before he moves the pot. He turns the hob off and then looks up at the ceiling, studying the cracks in it until he feels less like he’s entirely off his rocker. 

Is it possible to be driven insane by collarbones? If so, Dan’s might have put him on that path. 

He’s still standing there staring at the steaming pot when Dan walks back in, wearing a different t-shirt this time. He bumps Phil out of the way with his hip and says, “If I’d have had to put odds down on which one of us would injure ourselves while cooking first, I would have lost that bet.” 

“Hey!” Phil says, not too caught up in his lust to be offended. “Your mum would have lost!” 

“Probably. If she’d have met you, she’d have bet against you too.” Dan stirs the sauce and says, “Make yourself useful and get the bowls out?” 

Phil escapes the too-close proximity and pulls two down from the top shelf. “You know, it’s nice that we’re both tall, we can use all the kitchen space. Growing up my mum would get cross if we put anything above the second shelf.” 

“My nana was the same way,” Dan says, smile soft in an absent way with the memory. “I think I was twelve when I passed her in height.” 

“I can’t remember how old I was,” Phil says. “Older than that, I think. I was a late bloomer.” 

Dan glances over at him. “Well, you bloomed well when you did.” 

Phil’s face goes white hot. “Wh—?” 

“What are you, six one? Six two? We’re basically the same height.” Dan starts to spoon out the pasta sauce onto the noodles he must have cooked before Phil even got home. 

Oh. Because he got tall. Right. “I think you’re a bit taller than me.” 

“We’ll have to do the primary school thing and stand back to back to tell.”

“I think that only works if you have someone else to judge it,” Phil says, definitely not thinking about standing back to back with Dan. And whether or not Dan would have a shirt on in that situation… 

-

He’s still thinking about Dan and his goddamn body hours later, after they’ve eaten way too much pasta and watched True Romance and had a long, winding conversation about the oversaturation of violence in Quentin Tarantino films. Dan did most of the talking, of course, but Phil could listen to him blather on about movies all night. 

He wishes he still _was_ listening to Dan blather on, because then he wouldn’t be lying in bed trying desperately to pretend he isn’t unconscionably horny. Like, with a boner and everything. From the briefest glimpse of a torso. He could tell himself it’s not about that, that it’s just because it’s been a good long while since he’s gotten laid or even taken matters into his own hands and it’s inevitable that once in a while his body is going to remind him that he quite likes a good orgasm and perhaps he could just go ahead and stop denying the urges that come naturally to him.

He can’t wank while thinking about Dan. He can’t. 

He rings Ian instead.

“Mate.” His friend’s voice is groggy and thick, and too late Phil realizes it’s well past midnight and Ian has a job and a small child and just generally a life that isn’t conducive to receiving phone calls in the middle of the night.

“Crap, sorry.”

“Are you dying?”

“What?” Phil frowns. “No. Not really.”

“It’s a Tuesday.”

“Think it’s technically Wednesday, now,” Phil says.

“I’m going to murder you, Phil. I’ve got work in the morning. And Em wakes up at five.”

“Okay, then, I lied. I’m dying.”

Ian sighs. “Lauren’s gonna kill me.”

“Pretend you need a poo.”

Ian barks out a laugh, but Phil can hear the faint creaking of bedsprings and the sound of Ian’s feet on the wood floor of his hallway. “You owe me,” Ian hisses.

“I’m sexually frustrated,” Phil blurts, then slaps his hand over his mouth. He doesn’t want Dan hearing that through the wall. 

“Uh. Can’t much help you there mate. I love you and all, but I’m not down for phone sex right now.”

“Later then?” Phil quips.

“Did you genuinely ring me in the middle of the night to tell me you—”

“Shut up. I’m venting. I need to vent.”

“About your dick?”

Phil drops his voice down to nearly a whisper. “About my very hot flatmate.”

“Ah.” It’s barely a word, but there’s so much understanding contained within it. As awkward as this is, Phil was right to go to Ian. He almost always is.

“I obviously knew he was fit but suddenly it’s all I see and I think I’m going a bit mad.”

“And why exactly is just wanking it out not an option?”

Phil crosses one leg over the other so his crotch doesn’t get any ideas. “Because I can’t. It’s not like that with us. We’re friends.”

“He can’t actually see into your head, Phil. Fantasizing isn’t illegal.”

“Shut up, I know. Just feels wrong.”

“So why all of a sudden?” Ian asks. “What changed?” 

“I don’t know… nothing, really?” 

“Uh huh.” Ian yawns. 

“I mean, I guess… I did see Ben and, you know… came out to Dan.” 

“Right.” 

“And then Dan… I don’t know! I just feels different.” 

“Because he knows you’re gay?” 

“Because… maybe? I don’t know.” 

“ _I don’t know, I don’t know_ ,” Ian teases. “If wanking it out to flatmate hotterson isn’t going to work, why don’t you just… you know. Go pull.” 

Phil squawks. “What?” 

“Come on, you’re… you look alright. You could find someone. Go to, I dunno, a gay club or something!” 

“Have we _met_?” Phil asks. “Me and clubs are not things that go together.” 

“Then use an app! Fuck, mate.” Ian’s laughing so Phil knows he isn’t properly angry. Just maybe a little frustrated that his dense, horny best mate rings him in the middle of the night to whine about not being able to get laid when he hasn’t actually tried. 

He could… try. “I guess I could try an app,” Phil relents. 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatsit— Grimr? Grumblr?”

Phil scoffs. “There is no way you don’t know that it’s called Grindr.”

“I know it’s endlessly disappointing to you, but I don’t swing that way, Phil. I have zero investment in gay dating apps.”

“Why are we friends?” Phil grumbles. “Why am I best friends with someone I hate? Anyway, it’s not a dating app. It’s just about hookups.”

“Perfect, then,” Ian says cheerily, then yawns. “I trust you can take it from here. I’ve got a date with my bed.”

“Fine. I see how it is.”

“You can give me the sordid details later.”

Phil’s stomach twists just thinking about it. “Won’t I have to like, set up a profile and stuff?”

“Mate. I’m fucking married. I don’t know how that shit works.”

Phil huffs. 

He can practically hear Ian rolling his eyes. “How are you surviving down there?” Ian asks. “You’re like a lost puppy. Just find a halfway decent photo of yourself and slap your name and location on there. You’re passably attractive, I’m sure there are loads of dudes in London willing to dick you down even if you half ass your fucking Grindr profile.”

Phil physically recoils. “Ugh.”

“I’m going to bed, man. I’ve done all I can.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “Goodnight. And thanks, I guess.”

Ian makes an exaggerated kissing noise into the phone and then hangs up. Phil opens up the app store and downloads Grindr before he can really think about what he’s doing enough to panic about it. 

-

Ian was right. It was astonishingly easy to set up a profile, and in the time it takes him to get up, go to the kitchen and panic eat a bowl of cereal, then brush his teeth and wash his face, he has three guys messaging him.

Three guys willing to _dick him down_ as Ian so eloquently described it. 

It’s surprising how much that soothes a part of him that he didn’t know needed soothing. It’s completely crass and superficial and he honestly feels a bit guilty for enjoying the ego boost of it. But he does. He likes it.

Until he thinks about actually following through on any of the things these blokes are asking for. 

Would he have someone over here? Would they leave their shoes on Dan’s mat, hang their coat on the rack next to Phil’s yellow raincoat and Dan’s dark wash denim jacket?

Would Phil offer the guy a drink? Would they kiss in the kitchen before going to Phil’s room? Would they kiss at all? 

Would Dan be able to hear them through the walls?

Would Dan _care_ that he could hear them through the walls?

Phil’s stomach clenches. He can’t help imagining how he’d feel if the situation was flipped, if it was Dan who had someone over. 

The reaction he has to that thought would probably have been enough for him to delete the app and pretend the whole thing never happened, but then, like the universe coming up behind him and knocking him upside the head, the soft tinkling of Dan’s keyboard starts up on the other side of the wall. Not only does he want to delete the app, he wants to go back in time and erase his entire conversation with Ian. 

He can’t pull. It’s ludicrous that he entertained the idea for even a second. He’s not horny for any reason beyond the one he’s trying not to face. 

He deletes the app. Then he texts Dan. _How’s your stoned house?_

Dan’s answer is so immediate that Phil doesn’t have time to correct his typo. _lmfao what_

_Stomach. I meant stomach. Autocorrect has it out for me I stg._

He can hear Dan laughing through the wall. _my stomach is full of pasta and therefore woefully hiding what would otherwise be a rippling nine pack_

 _Only nine?_ Phil asks. _Slacker_

_I meant about your burn, btw_

_i think i’ll live_ , Dan replies. 

_My mum always said to put aloe on a burn_ , Phil says. 

_well do u have aloe_

_No, why would I have aloe??_

_idk phil you are the one that brought it up_

_I hate you._ Phil adds a sad emoji just for extra effect. 

If Dan actually asked for aloe, Phil would probably go to the all night Tesco just to pick him up some. 

And then maybe help him put it on. 

He’s so fucked. He sighs and sits up in his bed. Maybe what he needs is a snack. Food always takes his mind off things nicely. He’s not hungry in the slightest after a large amount of pasta and then a bowl of cereal, but it’s really his only available coping mechanism.

He’s in the kitchen rifling through the cabinet to see if there are any Doritos left when he hears a rustling behind him. 

Dan reaches right past him and snags the Doritos bag. “Thought I heard a mouse in here, but I was wrong… it’s an actual rat.” 

“Oi.” Phil reaches for the crisps and tries to snatch them out of Dan’s hand. “I was peckish!” 

Dan holds them just out of reach. Phil whines and jumps for them. “Peckish? After you ate your weight in pasta?” 

“Snacks don’t count the same as dinner,” Phil argues. He reaches for it again and it brings his body closer to Dan’s. 

They’re almost chest to chest. Phil’s eyes tick ever so slightly down to Dan’s lips, just because he can’t help himself. He’s a masochist. 

And Dan sees him. Dan must, because his eyes flicker down too, and Phil doesn’t over think the impulse he has. 

He leans up on the tips of his toes and snatches the bag with a satisfying crunch of plastic, then ducks away with a cackle. 

“Hey—” Dan shouts after him, sounding startled. “At least save me some for tomorrow.” 

Phil shoves three crisps into his mouth and crunches down. “No promises.” Then he hands the bag to Dan, because he really genuinely isn’t hungry, and he wants to see the smile he knows Dan will give him.

He isn’t disappointed. It’s more of a smirk, but it makes Phil’s stomach tingle all the same.

“Doritos definitely aren’t vegan,” Phil says, licking the cheese powder off his fingers.

“Some of them are.” Dan shoves an entire handful of crisps in his gob and crunches down theatrically. 

“These ones, though?” Phil indicates the bag they’re both pulling from. 

“Mind your own business,” Dan says. 

“Are you actually burnt, though?” Phil asks. “‘Cause you should put something on it if you are.”

Dan narrows his eyes. “Why do you care so much?”

Phil shrugs. “The older I get, the more Kath I become. If I start watching Coronation Street, stage an intervention immediately.”

Dan snorts a little, then lifts up the front of his shirt.

Phil’s brain short circuits for a moment too long before he realizes Dan’s just trying to show him that he’s not actually burnt.

This is absolutely not the distraction he was looking for. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Phil clears his throat. He can’t imagine there’s any way Dan doesn’t know that he’s flustered, but he has to carry on the charade regardless. “Looks alright, then,” he says gruffly. “I’ll stop trying to mother you.”

Dan drops his shirt and shrugs. “I think it’s cute.”

Phil swallows. “I’ll tell my mum you said so. You want some more?” 

Dan shakes his head. “I’m good now. You? Still peckish?” 

“No, that did the trick.”

Dan rolls the bag back up and shoves it back in the pantry. 

Phil thinks about those guys on the app. Two of them were quite fit, very aligned with what he finds attractive. But he wouldn’t have been standing in a kitchen in the middle of the night eating crisps with any of those guys. 

None of those guys would have cooked dinner and watched a film with him. It might have been a good time, in certain ways, but it wouldn’t have been this kind of a good time. 

He says goodnight to Dan and gets into bed. Sleep comes easier now.


	20. Chapter 20

*

*

“Are you ever coming back, d’you reckon?”

Phil is leant against the kitchen counter watching the toaster, willing it to work faster. There’s definitely something to be said for that whole ‘watched pot never boils’ thing, because he’d swear on his life he pressed his bread down five minutes ago and it still shows no signs of popping back up.

“Perhaps some day,” his mum jokes, her voice a touch tinny over the speakerphone. “I rather like it here. I have a tan.”

Phil rolls his eyes. “You always have a tan. You hoarded all the tan genes.”

The button on the kettle pops before the toaster, so he sets to work making himself a coffee.

“Martyn tans,” she points out. “A bit anyway.”

“More than me,” Phil agrees, scooping Nescafé into his old York mug. 

“I can imagine if Phil was ever exposed to actual sunlight he’d burst into flames.”

Phil whirls around to see Dan looking criminally sleep rumpled and adorable. He’s rubbing his eye with fist and yawning, wearing black joggers and the stupid camo shirt Phil hates and Phil has the momentary but almost overwhelming urge to bite him.

Her son may be a mess, but Kath, to her credit, doesn’t miss a beat. “Aye, you’re not far off there.”

Phil clears his throat and points to the cupboard that holds the mugs, hoping that’s enough communication for Dan to understand he should hand one to Phil if he wants a coffee. 

Dan does, tipping up and grabbing out an oversized Star Wars one as he talks to Phil’s mum like they’re old friends. “When I was fifteen I was on holiday with my family in Morocco and I fell asleep by the pool for five hours in fifty degree heat and I got sunstroke so bad I was sick for days.” He gives Phil a shy smile as he hands him the mug. “I tan really easily, though.”

“Mum, this is Dan,” Phil says awkwardly. He’s definitely not thinking about what Dan would look like with a golden tint to his skin.

“Hello Dan,” Kath says, so cheery and northern.

“Hello there,” Dan says back. Phil’s toast pops up and Dan pulls it out without a word and drops it on the waiting plate. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Lester.” 

“Oh christ, call me Kath, I beg you.”

“Alright then, Kath.” Dan slides his own overly seeded bread into the toaster then reaches into the fridge and hands Phil the jam. 

“I didn’t know that,” Phil says. “About the sunstroke. That’s terrifying.” 

“My brain basically baked inside of my head like a potato,” Dan says cheerily. 

“Wouldn’t have ever had to worry about that with Phil,” Kath says. “He was always far more interested in seeing what was on American telly when we were on holiday. Or playing his video games! Always with those video games, him and his brother both.” 

“Not once Martyn was a teenager,” Phil says. “Then he was more interested in driving to the beach to see girls in bikinis.” 

He knows his disinterest shows in his voice because his mum and Dan both laugh at him. 

“Oh, don’t pretend you didn’t find scenery of your own,” Kath teases. 

Dan looks like he isn’t sure if he should laugh or not. He actually looks a bit amazed, if anything. 

“I’m weak for the surfer type,” Phil says, heart banging hard against his rib cage. “I blame you and dad for making me spend so much of my adolescent summers on the beach.” He hasn’t taken his eyes off Dan’s face. 

“A grave crime indeed,” she chuckles. 

“I was definitely more interested in video games than girls, too,” Dan says. He’s looking down at his coffee rather resolutely. “Reckon teenage Phil and teenage Dan would’ve gotten on.”

“Just like grown up Phil and grown up Dan,” Kath says. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am that my boy happened to stumble ass backwards into such a lovely flat mate.”

“Mum,” Phil groans, and he does actually have to push his glasses up onto his forehead and hide his face in his hands. He’s still reeling from Dan’s assertion that they would’ve been friends as teenagers; he doesn’t need his mother infantilizing him to feel flustered. 

“He definitely got lucky,” Dan says, grinning, clearly happy to move on from his moment of vulnerability. 

“Dan makes me eat vegan pizza,” Phil huffs, like that negates all his good qualities.

“Cornelia would be so proud,” Kath says.

Dan asks, “Who’s Cornelia?”

“Brother’s girlfriend,” Phil says. “And anyway, mum, she’s vegetarian, not vegan. She still eats cheese. Vegan cheese is a freaking crime against nature.”

“You don’t even like cheese!” Dan squawks.

“We’ve been over this, pizza is an exception.”

Dan turns his attention in the direction of Phil’s phone, as if Kath can actually see him. “He’s never going to forgive me for that bleeding pizza. That was literally the day he moved in and he still hasn’t shut up about it.”

“Well, you know, those vegetables,” Kath says. “Quite traumatic, there. I would have to mask them when he was a little one. Bit of spinach in the bolognaise sauce, mushrooms on the pizza underneath all the cheese and sauce…” 

“Mum!” Phil is affronted. “Don’t give him ideas.” 

“No, please do,” Dan says. “Please give me ideas.” 

“I do eat vegetables now, you know,” Phil breaks in. 

“Sure you do,” Dan says. 

Kath just laughs. “This one sounds like a good influence on you, child. I’ll leave him to be your minder now. Roz is waiting on me so we can do a sunrise breakfast. With mimosas!” 

“I also don’t need a minder!” Phil tries to argue, but his mum has already hung up. 

“Sunrise?” Dan takes a sip of his coffee. “Where is she again?” 

“Florida,” Phil says, drinking much less delicately from his own. Sometimes singed tastebuds are worth the caffeine high. “With my aunt.” 

“Christ, it must be early there. It still feels early here.” 

“Dan.” Phil laughs. “It’s not early. It’s almost ten. Stevie’s expecting me in about an hour so I’m about to get ready for work.” 

“Early is relative,” Dan says. “I used to sleep until two in the afternoon every day. Waking up by ten is a victory. Anyway, I had a long night last night.” 

“Yeah?” Phil asks, tilting his head inquisitively. 

Dan just shrugs. “You need a shower?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Phil says, straightening up from where he’s been leaning against the counter. “I do.”

“Let me know when you’re out,” Dan says, then takes his coffee back with him into his bedroom. 

_Long night_. The phrase is still rattling around in Phil’s head when he walks into the bathroom. 

His shirt and pajama pants are a pile on the floor when he spots the little bottle of nail polish out on the counter. He picks it up and studies it, desperate to find a way to explain it away that doesn’t involve the most logical answer.

Did Dan have a girl over last night? Phil hadn’t heard anything, but he can’t discount the possibility that she came in super later and left right after. Maybe it was Liz. Maybe he’d run into her whilst collecting the post and she’d talked his ear off and he’d been feeling lonely. Maybe Dan isn’t as useless with hookup apps as Phil is. Maybe he’s actually met someone special and been wary of telling Phil because he can tell that Phil has a pitiful little crush and Dan is just too nice of a guy to want to hurt Phil’s feelings. 

Maybe the someone special isn’t a girl. Maybe it’s a bloke who paints his nails. Maybe it’s a… a someone. A nonbinary someone, or something like that. Phil’s pretty sure he hasn’t been imagining the shift that’s been happening since Phil came out to him. He thought it meant… well. He thought it meant something it clearly didn’t. Dan may not be straight, but Phil has no claim to him. 

In the back of his head is a voice that reminds him that Dan spends almost every night watching films with him, and would have to be pretty crafty to have forged a relationship in the limited amount of time he spends outside the walls of their flat, but he’s holding a bottle of glittery black varnish in his hands and he’s got no explanation for that. Das hasn’t had any friends who are girls over. He doesn’t have a sister. Phil’s never seen Dan with painted nails, and he knows for a fact they’re not painted now, because he’d watched the way Dan’s long fingers curled around his mug as he chatted with Kath.

Fuck. Phil’s stomach hurts. Ten minutes ago he’d been swimming in warm happy hopeful feelings listening to the easy camaraderie Dan had instantly forged with his mother, and now he’s trying not to cry. 

It’s pathetic. He’s pathetic.

He showers quickly, dresses quickly, leaves the flat entirely before he texts Dan to tell him that the bathroom is free. He can’t face it right now. He can’t let Dan read the humiliating disappointment he’s sure is written all over his face.

-

He can’t hide it from Stevie. The instant he walks into the shop there’s a frown creased between her eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

He hands her the green tea latte he’d picked up for her on the way over and heads straight to the back of the shop towards the studio. 

She follows. “Phil.”

He sits at the paint splattered table and avoids meeting her eyes. “I’m an idiot. An _imbécile_. I want to paint.”

“I’ve got a class in twenty, remember?”

He sighs deeply, scrubbing a hand down over his face. “Right.”

“How about pencils today?” she asks softly. “Quicker to clean up.”

He nods, looking at her finally. “Did you know that you’re wonderful?”

She doesn’t smile. “I don’t like it when you’re sad.”

He forces _himself_ to smile. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Just… god. So, so stupid.”

“We’re all stupid, mon chou. It’s the human condition.” She squeezes his hand and then walks into the back room. When she comes out she’s holding a box of well-loved pencils and two books - one sketchbook Phil recognizes, the other she doesn’t. 

He looks down at it. “Is this… a colouring book? Like for kids?” 

She arches an eyebrow at him. “What have I told you about bringing the creativity of your childhood along with you through life? Besides, that’s why I brought the sketch book as well. You have choices.” 

“I was always bad at colouring in the lines,” he warns her. “But maybe I’ll try anyway.” 

She laughs, that soft comforting sound. “Some lines are meant to be coloured over.” 

“Even by daft employees who fall into dramatics over the smallest things?” He asks. 

“Especially by those.” Her students start to filter in and Phil tucks the colouring book away until he’s alone again. 

-

He laughs out loud in the empty shop when he sees what the colouring book actually is - intricate designs in swirls and patterns all around elaborately scripted curse words. He chooses a page with vines and leaves coming off of the word ‘shitballs’ and then sets out with an array of greens. 

He definitely doesn’t stay in the lines, and sometimes he confuses what tiny bit of the design is part of which leaf or flower and applies the wrong color, but he likes the fact that he has something to focus on. Eventually he stops caring about the colors altogether and just picks the one he feels like it, leaving a picture that starts off with pastel green leaves and a darker green vine but then fades into a rainbow array of blues and purples and pinks. He leaves the letters themselves for last and then picks bright turquoise and lime green to go back and forth with on. 

He just barely finishes before the class lets out. He puts it away to ring up the supplies people always end up purchasing to try what they learned at home and just to chat a bit. 

“Alright,” Stevie says, once she’s done seeing off the last of them. “Let’s see it, then. What did your emotions lead you to?” 

“It wasn’t really my emotions,” Phil admits, pulling out the book to show her. “More like my avoidance of them.”

She tuts. 

“That’s what I wanted,” he assures her. “I know you don’t agree, but sometimes emotions are stupid and useless and misplaced. Sometimes emotions can jog on and leave me alone.”

The corner of her mouth quirks up. “Well, I like your conviction. Even if you’re speaking nonsense.” She sweeps her fingers over the curve of the letters on the page. “So much green…”

“Don’t tell me that means something,” Phil huffs. “I just like that colour.”

She raises her hands defensively, but there’s a glint in her eye. Maybe he’s imagining it, maybe he’s just assigning meaning to it based on his own insecurities right now. 

He sighs aggressively. “Fine. Tell me what it means.”

“Why don’t _you_ tell _me_?” she says softly.

He narrows his eyes. “You think I’m well stupid, don’t you? You’re bluffing. It doesn’t mean anything, you just wanna hear about my bloody emotions.”

“I definitely don’t think you’re stupid, chou. No more than the rest of us.”

He sighs, more resigned this time. “I honestly… Just. I feel…”

She looks at him, waiting.

“I think I may have accidentally stumbled into something I want,” he says quietly. “And I can’t have it. And that might feel worse than not wanting anything at all.”

“Who said you can’t have it?” 

“Life. Life said.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe that. And I don’t believe you felt better not wanting things.”

He bites his lip. “I know this is like, your thing, but… I kind of just want you not to argue with me right now. I don’t wanna be bigger than my— my fears, or whatever.”

Her expression softens, and she reaches out to wrap her hand around his forearm. “What are you scared of, Phil?”

He shrugs, looking down at his stupid rainbow-green shitballs. “Losing progress. Being alone. Never feeling like I actually belong somewhere ever again.”

She squeezes. “What happened?”

He shrugs again. “Nothing. I’m overreacting, I’m sure.”

“You’re allowed.”

He snaps his head up to look at her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, Phil. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you weren’t.”

He lets out a long shaky breath. It’s exactly what he wanted to hear. It almost makes him feel better. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Do you wanna play hooky with me and go get ramen?”

He smiles, reaching up to wipe at his eye. “Yes please.”

-

He feels better over ramen. 

“Do you know it isn’t his?” she asks, using her chopsticks expertly to snare a few noodles. 

Phil shrugs. “I don’t.” 

“Is Dan someone confined by social norms?” she asks. 

“Is that a fancy way of saying is he too much of a man to wear nail varnish?” Phil asks, voice deepening and exaggerating the word ‘man.’ 

She laughs. “I suppose so.” 

“I don’t think so,” Phil says. “I mean, I’d say no. He’s fine with having a gay flatmate, after all.” 

“That’s a very low bar, my dear,” she says. 

“Yeah, but…” Phil shrugs. He doesn’t know how to say that sometimes the low bar is where he has to start from. It’s not even that he’s had too many horrible experiences with being rejected for being gay, just… the world has a way of teaching certain things from a very young age, especially to boys who fancy other boys. “I don’t know. This feels like something I should learn to deal with either way.” 

She makes an inquisitive sound through another bite of her ramen. 

“I just mean… I can’t have a meltdown every time he does date someone, right?” Phil pushes the contents of his own bowl around. “I need to be mature about it.” 

“Sometimes maturity is… pour les oiseaux. For the birds.” 

“So you’re saying I should just be jealous?” Phil asks. 

“No, I’m saying that you need to find other outlets for the jealousy, so that it doesn’t eat you up inside.” 

“My best mate told me to download a hookup app,” he admits. 

“Ooh.” Her face lights up in that way it does when she finds particularly juicy gossip. “Did you?” 

“I did,” he says. “And then… I deleted it.” 

She makes a disappointed sound. “Before or after you made a profile?” 

“... after,” Phil says. “I got a few messages, too.” 

She cackles. “Of course you did, mon chou. Why do you sound surprised?”

“I don’t know!” Phil says, throwing his hands up in a questioning gesture. “It’s just weird that like, someone out there looked at a picture of me and thought, yeah, I want a piece of that.” 

“You underestimate yourself.” She points a chopstick at him. “Ta bitte c'est alléchante, I have no doubt.” 

“Do I want to know what you just said?” Phil asks warily. 

She just smiles at him. 

“ _Anyway_. I deleted the app. I just don’t think that casual sex is the solution for me.” 

“So we keep thinking,” she says. “What about earlier? Did you enjoy the creative release?”

“The colouring was nice,” Phil admits. “But I can’t exactly take around an emergency colouring book with me, can I?” 

“Why not?” she asks. 

He laughs and acquiesces and lets her guide the topic through telling him some of her own past brushes with jealousy, both warranted and not. Her stories are more amusing than anything else, meant to distract him. He’s not even sure they’re all true. But it makes him laugh, and though she hasn’t given him any magic solutions, he still feels better by the time he hugs her goodbye. 

-

He takes his time walking home once his shift is over, dipping in and out of random shops just to kill time. He buys a coffee he knows he’ll regret when he’s lying awake in bed later, and a panini that costs a lot more than the mediocre taste of it warrants. 

He isn’t even hungry. He's just… a little bit sad. Not as sad as he was this morning, but he still doesn’t really fancy finding out if seeing Dan’s face brings back all the intensity of emotion he experienced when laying eyes on that bottle of varnish.

The sun has gone down by the time he’s finally climbing the stairs up to their flat. The lift has been non-functional for so long at this point that he doesn’t even bother checking anymore. 

There are no food smells when he opens the door and steps inside, but the lights are on, as is the television, and he can hear Dan singing in the bathroom. It makes his heart pang, but that’s it. He’s alright. He’ll be alright. He just needs to force himself not to hypothesize about Dan’s love life. It’s not his business, and it’s not good for him.

And nothing has changed. Dan’s still here, and the lack of strangers’ shoes on the mat tells Phil that at least for tonight, it’s only the two of them. So he kicks off his own shoes and hangs up his coat and settles himself on the sofa to wait for Dan to make his appearance.

He’s half lost himself to scrolling mindlessly on twitter when Dan flops heavily onto the other end of the couch. “You’re home later than usual,” he remarks.

Phil shrugs. 

“You hungry?” Dan asks, nudging Phil’s leg with his knee. “I didn’t feel like cooking, but we could order if you want.”

Why does he have to be so _good_? Phil just wants to be aloof, but it’s damn near impossible when Dan insists on being so kind and considerate and attentive and casually fucking affectionate and—

Phil’s breath catches. Dan’s just put his feet up on the coffee table and crossed his legs at the ankles. He isn't wearing socks, and his toenails are painted glittery black, exactly like the fucking polish in the bottle.

Phil laughs, loudly and harshly and with absolutely no conceivable excuse for it. 

Dan looks bewildered. “Why is that funny?”

Phil lets his head drop back against the sofa cushion. “What?” He's still got laughter in his voice, and his whole body feels warm and loose with unearned relief.

Dan frowns. “Are you high?”

Phil laughs again. “Mate… I might be.”

“On…?”

“Life?” Phil offers.

“You are such a motherfucking strange person, Phil.”

“I’m not. I’ve never fucked my mother. Not once.”

Dan blusters out something about Phil being vile and horrible, but Phil doesn’t hear it. He’s too busy staring at Dan’s feet. That’s never even remotely been a thing for him. He’s never looked at someone’s toes and felt anything, but tonight he could fucking kiss Dan’s, just press his lips against each of those ten digits one by one.

That’s weird. Dan is right, he’s very motherfucking strange. 

He doesn’t care at all.


	21. Chapter 21

*

*

The rain rolls in halfway through Phil’s shift, unexpected and aggressive. The sky is dark and water pelts Atelier’s windows relentlessly.

The shop is a ghost town with a population of two, and he and Stevie pass the time by drinking tea and taking inventory of pretty much everything in the store. It’s not fun work, but everything is at least a little bit fun with Stevie, and Phil likes the sound of the rain and thunder. 

He likes it a little less when his shift has ended and it’s still absolutely pissing it down.

“You would think I would have learned in my thirty three years as an Englishman to just always have an umbrella on hand,” he mumbles, bracing himself for the swim home. “Don’t even have a bloody jacket.”

“It’s not your fault, it’s the weatherman’s,” Stevie offers graciously. “How do they miss a storm like this?”

Phil just sighs. “Weather can be unpredictable. There’s as much art to meteorology as there is science.”

She quirks an eyebrow at him. “That so?”

He nods miserably, not offering any illumination on his knowledge of the subject.

“Well,” she says, “I could give you a bin bag. You could poke a head hole.”

-

Shockingly, he does not take her up on the very generous offer. He waits fifteen minutes after his shift just praying the storm will quiet long enough for him to hurry home without getting drenched, but it’s all in vain, and eventually he has to accept his fate.

It only takes a few minutes to get soaked through, so by the time he makes it into his and Dan’s building, he’s waterlogged and borderline hypothermic. His shoes are puddles, water squishing out onto the floor of the lobby with every step he takes. He can barely see through his glasses.

He feels like a tit walking the stairs up to 12B and dripping water on every step, but luckily he doesn’t run into any of his neighbours. The only one to witness his drowned rat shame is Dan when Phil pushes open the front door and practically falls with relief into the warmth of their flat.

For some reason it’s only then that he starts shivering, stood in the entryway, water rolling down his cheeks and nose and soaking into the mat under his feet.

“Christ,” he hears Dan say, but he can’t really see anything as his glasses are now wet _and_ fogged up. He slides them up into his hair and tries to wipe his face on the sleeve of his jumper, but it’s completely futile. 

Then there’s a firm weight around his shoulders as Dan drops a towel there.

“Mate, your lips are blue,” Dan says, but Phil can’t be arsed to care because Dan is rubbing his hands up and down Phil’s arms in an attempt to warm him. 

“S’raining,” Phil says stupidly. His view of Dan’s face is hazy without the glasses, but only a little as Dan is stood so close. Phil’s glad for an excuse for the shiver that rips through him violently. It has nothing to do with the cold. 

“No shit,” Dan murmurs, still rubbing firmly from Phil’s shoulders down to his elbows and back up, over and over. Phil never wants him to stop.

But eventually he does, because it would probably be weird if he didn’t. Phil pulls the towel around himself like a burrito and gives Dan a sheepish smile. “Thanks, nurse.”

“Fuck off,” Dan says, but there’s warmth in his tone. “Go get changed before you catch pneumonia or something.”

Phil does as he’s told, but he still hasn’t shaken the chill by the time he comes out of his room wearing a pair of joggers and a clean, dry hoodie. It’s an old one of Ben’s, something that made its way in his laundry basket once and never got back to its rightful owner. He doesn’t keep it out of sentimentality so much as how it’s oversized and comfortable as hell. 

“That’s better,” Dan says, clearly approving. “I made you some tea.” 

“Not coffee?” Phil pouts. 

“It’s raining! You have tea when it’s raining,” Dan says. “Those were my grandma’s rules. She used to sit me down at the table and I’d watch while she made it.” 

“Are you sure your grandma wasn’t just trying to distract you so you didn’t tear her house apart when you couldn’t go outside and play?” 

“... alright, well, I was a very active child, but still,” Dan says, stubborn. “Here’s your damn tea.” 

Phil laughs and takes the mug. It is nice, warming his fingers and then pleasantly down his throat as he takes a swallow. Good amount of sweetness, too. “I’m glad you’re not one of those tea purists who won’t add milk or sugar.” 

“I reserve my elitism for things that matter.”

“Like?” Phil asks, heading for the sofa.

Dan follows. “Music, mostly, I suppose.”

“Not film?”

Dan shrugs. “I think your terrible taste in movies has made me soft.”

Phil grins. “Because I’m so awesome? You can’t hold it against me because you just like me too much?” He takes a sip of his tea to burn away a little of the anxiety he has about how Dan will answer.

But Dan’s reply comes in a soft voice with a little nudge of his foot against Phil’s calf. “Maybe. Something like that.”

Phil tries to hide his crazy person smile behind his mug. “So. Wanna watch a terrible film and order food?”

“Food, yes,” Dan says. “Film, no. I’m feeling more in the mood for Buffy. I spent all day writing, I just wanna watch something that requires zero brain cells to enjoy.”

“I think I’m offended that you don’t think Buffy requires brain cells,” Phil says. “But also, I always want to watch Buffy, so I’ll agree anyway.” 

“Of course you will.” Dan settles back on the sofa and nudges the remote toward Phil. “Because you can’t resist looking at those vampire abs, right?” 

Phil gives himself credit for only being mildly caught off guard. He’s not sure if his laugh gives it away or not. “Fine, you got me there,” he says, cueing up the first episode. 

-

They make it through more episodes in a row than they have during any marathon night yet, pausing only when the food arrives to sort out plates and divvy up the takeaway. They leave an extra large tip for the fact that the delivery person has to be out in an actual downpour just so they can have their Indian without having to move further from the sofa than the entryway. 

Phil has his chicken tikka masala but Dan is determined to expand his boundaries and makes Phil try tofu paneer and dal makhani. 

“I’d order the potato samosas again,” Phil relents. “But I don’t think tofu is for me.” 

“So what I’m hearing is you want a mushroom and tofu pizza with extra vegan cheese for dinner tomorrow night,” Dan says. “Right?”

“Gerald wouldn’t even eat that.” Phil makes a grossed out face. “No thank you.” 

“Gerald?” Dan asks, head jerking around sharply. 

“The pigeon.” Phil remembers belatedly that while he’s probably mentioned his avian friend to Dan before, he hasn’t really let on that they still chat most days… or that he leaves cups of food outside. 

He’s not above buying friendship. 

“Oh.” Dan relaxes. “Yeah, the pigeon.” 

Phil looks out the lounge window. “I hope he’s got somewhere nice to be during this storm.” 

“You’re not allowed to keep a pigeon in your room,” Dan says immediately. “Don’t get any ideas.” 

“I mean, it doesn’t say in the lease that I can’t,” Phil says. “It says no pets, but Gerald’s not a pet. He’s his own bird. An independent pigeon who don’t need no man.” 

“I will write it in myself.” 

“You don’t own the flat!” 

“I’m sure the actual landlord won’t mind.” 

“What about hamsters?” Phil says. “It doesn’t say no hamsters in the lease.” 

“Hamsters definitely count as pets,” Dan says. “Except maybe the one I had as a teenager, but that’s a long and traumatic story.” 

“I won’t ask,” Phil says. 

“Good. Don’t.” Dan reaches over and puts another samosa on Phil’s plate. 

Phil groans. “I can’t eat anymore.” 

“I know you,” Dan says. “Give it five minutes and you will.” 

Phil reaches over and flicks Dan on the ear, mostly to hide his pleasure at Dan knowing him that well. 

-

It takes twenty minutes to make enough room in his stomach - quadruple the amount of time Dan had predicted - but Phil does indeed end up eating that stupid samosa, and Dan has a very smug look on his face when he clears their plates away in between episodes.

-

They stay up even later than usual. Phil doesn’t have work tomorrow, but he got tired enough to fall asleep about three episodes ago and yet he’s still sat next to Dan in the dark. He keeps yawning and stretching and saying, “Well…” trying to lead into saying goodnight and getting up to collapse into bed, but Dan keeps ignoring his hints and saying, “Another?” in this hopeful voice that Phil is powerless to deny.

Until he’s literally falling asleep on the sofa. He startles awake when there’s an explosion of noise on screen, and he looks over at Dan, who’s already looking at him. “I need to go to bed,” he says apologetically.

Dan actually sighs and says, “Fine. I guess it’s late.” 

Phil frowns, sleep muddling his brain enough to ask what he’d been holding back asking before. “Why don’t you wanna go to bed?”

“What? I don’t. I mean, I do. I’m just… not tired.” He yawns after he says it, and it would be funny if Phil didn’t know for a fact that Dan was feeling uneasy.

There’s a crack of thunder then, and Dan’s eyes dart in the direction of the window. 

“Are you scared of thunderstorms?” Phil blurts. 

“Fuck off.”

“You’re afraid of the dark,” Phil points out. “And trees. In terms of irrational fears, thunderstorms actually make more sense as they actually have the potential to—”

“Shut up.” Dan shoves his shoulder. “Go to bed.” He stands and turns off the tv, then reaches out a hand to help Phil up. “Goodnight idiot.”

Phil is sleepy enough that all he does is laugh and accept the help, indulging in the warm comforting feeling of Dan’s hand grasping his as he gets to his feet. 

-

He’s at least an hour into sleep and deeply immersed in a dream where Chris Hemsworth and Jason Momoa are combining their forces to give him a full body massage while he floats on a giant Haribo when he hears a sound that shoots him right out of that particular bliss. 

“Shit, sorry,” Dan says. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“You’re—” Phil’s voice catches and he clears the sleep from it. “You’re standing in my doorway in the middle of the night and you didn’t mean to scare me?” 

As if to demonstrate the creepiness of the moment, lightning flashes and shows a perfect Dan-shaped silhouette. 

“There’s a leak in my room from the storm,” Dan says. 

“A leak? How?” Phil frowns. “There are levels above us, it can’t be from the storm.” 

“It’s my window,” Dan says. “Frame must be loose or something. Anyway, I can’t sleep, just wanted to see if you were up.” 

“Well.” Phil yawns into the back of his hand. “I am now.” 

“Shit.” Dan takes a step back. “Sorry, I’m an ass for waking you up.” 

“No, no,” Phil says, mind clearing enough to discern the genuine tone of Dan’s voice being in the realm of _not alright_. 

Thunder claps outside and Dan jumps. 

Phil pulls himself up a bit to lean his back against the headboard. “Dan.”

“What?”

He keeps his voice soft. “Is there actually a leak? Or are you just freaked out?”

Dan stands there for a beat. And then he huffs, and walks into Phil’s room properly, shutting the door behind. “Just shut up and shove over.”

Phil’s heart crawls up into his throat as he shuffles toward the wall and watches Dan climb into his bed. And under his covers. Like it’s nothing. 

Phil tries very hard to act like it’s nothing, but he’s not entirely convinced he isn’t still dreaming. Their bodies aren’t touching, but it’s a near thing. His bed isn’t that big, definitely not designed for two people their size. 

Dan hums, shuffling until he’s nearly laid down, only the back of his head resting against the headboard. The headboard that he helped build. “You chose a good mattress. Comfy.”

Phil nods. “Definitely better than that foam thing.”

“You had that for way too long.”

Phil pulls his knees up, just to mitigate a little bit of the intense vulnerability he feels at being inches away from Dan’s body. In bed. Dan is wearing a shirt, but Phil isn’t. It’s dark in here, so he’s not even sure if Dan’s noticed. “Yeah, well.” He clears his throat. “I was a mess when I first got here, wasn’t I?”

“You were sad. There’s a difference.”

Phil can’t take this. He absolutely cannot do this. He turns his head and looks out the window. He can’t really see anything at first, but then there’s a flash of light followed a few seconds later by a distant rumble of thunder and it makes him smile.

“I’m sorry you don’t like storms,” Phil says. “I love them.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, always have. Like, lightning especially. It’s just so cool to me.”

“It’s terrifying.”

Phil shrugs. “I think it’s exciting.” He turns back to look at Dan, or what little he can make out of his face in the dark room. “When I was a kid I wanted to be a weatherman.”

Dan chuckles softly. “Yeah? That’s adorable.”

“It probably had as much to do with the projected weather maps on telly as it did with actual meteorology, but yeah. I dunno. I’ve just always found it cool how the sky looks different every day. Like the clouds are never the same. And if they mix together in the right way they can make electricity? Come on. That’s cool.”

“Still terrifying to me,” Dan says. “Sorry.”

“My house in Rawtenstall was on top of a hill. We had a giant window in the lounge and you could see right out the back garden. My dad and I would sit at the window whenever it stormed, and we had a perfect view.”

“That’s a nice memory,” Dan says quietly.

It’s strange that Dan knows now. He knows the weight of the stories Phil shares about his dad, and he’s treating them accordingly. 

“What about you?” Phil asks. “Tell me a nice memory.” 

Dan doesn’t respond for so long that Phil begins to think he should apologize for asking, but then he shifts and says, “My dad used to be away for work overnight a lot so if I was really scared because of a storm or just… you know, a shadow in my room I was convinced was going to steal my soul or eat my tongue or something, my mum would let me get into bed with her and she’d sing to me until I fell asleep and let me sleep there with her. Once my brother was born that stopped, she had to be up with him too much during the night, but it was a nice memory of just having her sole attention.” 

“Mum love is magic like that, isn’t it?” Phil asks. He knows he’s treading sensitive ground because Dan seems to have as many bad memories from being a kid as good ones but he’s glad that there’s something Dan remembers that can put that smile on his face. “Do you want kids?” 

The question just pops out of his mouth, one of those moments where his brain has no filter. 

Dan shrugs. “I used to think I did. I used to think I’d adopt like, five or six kids, and be the best dad ever. But now I’m not so sure. There might be a lot of situations in life that stop me having them.”

Phil desperately wants to know more about those situations but he knows he can’t push. The last thing he wants is for Dan to feel like he’s being forced into acknowledging something he isn’t ready to acknowledge, whether it’s in his own head or just with Phil. 

“Do you?” Dan asks.

“I’ve honestly not thought about it much. I can’t really see myself as a dad but I’ve also never even been remotely close to a position where it would make sense for me to consider it, so I guess the best answer I have is that I have no idea.”

Dan nods. “Makes sense.”

“I’m too immature,” Phil says. “Even now, and I’m in my thirties.”

Dan chuckles. “Same. Like… god. Some days I can barely even take care of myself. I would never wanna subject a kid to being raised by me.”

“Dan.” Phil can’t help arguing. “You’d be an amazing dad.”

Then he feels Dan’s knee nudging his thigh. 

“Shut up,” Dan murmurs. “I can’t even be in my own room at night when there’s a thunderstorm.”

“You could,” Phil says. “You just don’t want to. And you don’t have to. I’m here.”

It’s too much. He shouldn’t say stuff like that and he knows it, but it’s late and he’s tired and Dan is lying next to him in his bed and he’s finding it harder to convince himself that there isn’t something here, something more than just one sided infatuation. 

Dan looks at him. “I’m glad it was you who answered my listing.”

Phil swallows. “Me too.”

“Please.” Dan scoffs. “You could have ended up with a flatmate that wouldn’t wake you up in the middle of the night.” 

“Enough of that,” Phil says. “Anyway, I could also have ended up with someone that wasn’t okay with me being gay. Or someone that like… I dunno… liked cheese flavoured everything for dinner every night. A cheeseaholic.” 

“I like that those two things are even on your list of ways a flatmate could be bad.” 

“Well, maybe not _even_ ,” Phil says. “I mean, it doesn’t get much lower than a cheese addict.” 

Dan snorts. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“Yeah.” Phil grins shamelessly. “Anyway, I do mean it, though. I did house share in uni and I got on fine with most of my flatmates but I don’t feel like I was as close to any of them as I feel to you already, and I lived with some of them for three years.” 

He wants to see how Dan will react to - or counter - that level of open appreciation. 

As he has a habit of usually doing, Dan goes in a direction Phil hadn’t anticipated. “It’s so fucked, you know. That you have to worry about encountering people every day of your life that don’t know you but hate you for something that’s just a part of you.” 

“Yeah,” Phil says quietly. “I try not to think about that or I’d be far too anxious every day.” 

“It’s not even just - oh, this probably closeted twat feels like you threaten his fragile masculinity, he might send you to A&E. It’s like - insidious, right? It’s a neighbour that casually tells you she’s a Tory or someone spouting off some bullshit about feeling like their spawn’s innocence is threatened by someone like you being on a television show. Like you never know what kind of hate is lurking in someone’s head even if they aren’t in your face about it. How do you trust anyone, ever?” 

“If I let myself think like that all the time, I probably wouldn’t,” Phil says. 

“Shit. I didn’t mean—” 

“No, Dan.” Phil interrupts him. “It’s alright. I understand what you mean. I just… can’t. Plus, I guess it helps that I do know there are people in my life I can trust, that love me. My parents weren’t thrilled about having a gay son, I don’t think, but I never wondered if they loved me. And I spent my whole teenage years pissing myself out of fear of what my friends would think. I knew they were good people, or they wouldn’t have been my friends, but it was still hard. I guess it took being out to them and realizing they all still loved me to prove to me that it was alright to trust some people.” 

“I’m lucky I’m someone you trust like that,” Dan says quietly. 

“It’s not luck, Dan. You earned that trust.”

Dan says, “Shut up.”

Phil shakes his head, smiling. “Your deflection game needs work, mate.”

He expects Dan to take the out and make a joke, but instead he’s quiet for a long beat before he says, “I trust you too, you know. And I like that you’re nice, even if I deflect all the time.”

Thunder cracks, slicing through the moment, and Dan jumps. “Fuck,” he says on a heavy exhale, looking at the window. “Is it ever gonna stop?”

Phil hopes it doesn’t. He hopes it storms all fucking night long. 

“So,” Dan says. “Your life got better after you came out, yeah? Like… you felt closer to your people?”

“I did.”

“You felt relief? Like you didn’t have to wonder anymore whether or not they would accept you? And you didn’t have to feel guilty for keeping a secret?”

Phil’s heart is hammering as he shuffles down so he’s laid flat on his back, then he turns his head on the pillow to look at Dan, who has maneuvered himself into a mirror image of Phil.

“You felt… like you actually existed?”

Phil wants to cry. It takes everything within himself not to grab Dan by the shoulders and tell him it’s okay, he doesn’t have to hide when it’s just the two of them, that things can get better if he lets them, that he can feel like a real person someday too.

“Yes,” he whispers. “That’s exactly what it felt like.”

Dan looks up at the ceiling. 

Phil doesn’t know what to say.

“Is it weird that I’m in here?” Dan asks. 

“No.”

“Can I sleep here?”

“Yes, Dan. You can, of course you can.”

Dan nods. “I lied about the leak.”

Phil laughs. It feels good. “I know.” He reaches over and pats Dan on the head. His hair is not as soft as he’d always assumed it would be. There’s a bit of frizz there, and Phil has to remind himself that he’s not allowed to just jam his fingers into Dan’s curls and rub his fingers on Dan’s scalp just because he wants to. “What did you do on stormy nights before I got here? You sleep with all your flatmates?”

Dan jerks his head to look at Phil. “Mate…”

Phil slaps his hands over his face. “God, not like— Oh my gosh.” He pulls the duvet all the way up over his head and wills himself to spontaneously combust. 

Dan just yanks it back down. “Do you want me to tell you you’re special, Phil? That you’re the only flatmate— no. The only _friend_ I’ve ever had that I felt even remotely comfortable sharing basically anything personal with?”

“Um.” Phil clears his throat. “Actually, yeah.”

“Well you are. Before you I would spend stormy nights sat up wide awake with the lights on watching dumb shit on youtube until the thunder stopped or the sun came up, whichever happened first.”

Phil barely has time to contemplate how lonely Dan must have felt before Dan is saying, “And, just for, like, the record? I’ve never slept with a flatmate. Not once. In any of the ways.”

“I’m your first.” He says it with altogether too much smiling in his tone.

“Yes, Phil. I’m losing my platonic-flatmate-bedsharing virginity to you, are you happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

He’s not even going to take that _platonic_ bit to heart. He’s done ignoring the signs. They’re too good to be true, and yet, they’re actually not. They’re not too good, they’re just true. 

Sometimes good things happen. It’s not unheard of. Sometimes they even happen to Phil.

Despite his deep desire to stay up all night sharing secrets and affirmations and declarations with Dan, his body is a dirty traitor. The yawn he lets out then nearly dislocates his jaw.

“You should sleep,” Dan says. “I can’t believe I’ve kept you up so long, I’m such an unforgivable wankstain.”

Phil laughs, his eyes drifting shut. “I forgive you.” He pulls the duvet up to his chin and snuggles down into its warmth. The rain pelts the window and Dan’s heat radiates under the covers. “Goodnight, Dan.”

“Goodnight. And Phil?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains references to past self harm.

*

*

It’s still raining when Phil wakes up. The sound of it is soft against the window, and he’s never been more glad for a day off. He turns his head in Dan’s direction and gets a view of brown curls. He’s still asleep; Phil can hear him breathing slow and even. 

He can’t remember who fell asleep first, only that it was warm under his blankets and he didn’t feel anxious when his foot brushed Dan’s leg. Dan didn’t pull away, and they didn’t exchange any words about it.

It was the best sleep Phil’s had in months. Maybe years. And maybe that thought should scare him, but he can’t find it in himself to be anything but safe and comforted. 

They’re not touching now. Dan is laid on his stomach facing away from Phil, and Phil is on his back. He keeps switching his gaze lazily from the trails of water the rain leaves on the glass of the window back over to Dan’s hair and the steady rise and fall of the duvet atop his back and shoulders.

He’d like to freeze this moment and live in it forever. 

He’s not sure how long he lies there luxuriating before there’s the sound of Dan moving against the sheets. Phil’s pulse picks up a bit, ready for Dan to be freaked out or apologetic or in any other way uncomfortable about letting himself be so open and vulnerable last night, but it doesn’t come. He turns over and looks at Phil, smiling sheepishly as he stretches his arms above his head.

“Morning.”

“Good morning,” Phil says, voice coloured golden with fondness he doesn’t even try to conceal. “How’d you sleep?”

“So good.” Dan’s hands grip the headboard behind him as he arches his back a little into the stretch. “Like a rock.”

“Me too,” Phil admits. His own body is still hidden under the blanket, naked from the waist up. He’s still not sure Dan’s noticed. “You’re like a space heater.”

“Yeah,” Dan says. “I’ve always run a bit hot.” 

A very immature part of Phil wants to jump in and agree that yes, Dan is always hot, he’s noticed. But he doesn’t. He just clenches his fingers in the duvet and stays burrowed down. 

“You survived the storm,” he says. 

“I think you’re taking the piss,” Dan says. “But I’d like to remind you that it’s still raining.” 

“Yeah, but that’s just a bit of a drizzle. Or is the real problem that you’re made of sugar and you’ll melt if you get the tiniest bit wet?” Phil asks cheekily. 

“Yes,” Dan answers dryly. “That’s exactly it.” He closes his eyes as he answers and lets his face sink back into the pillow. 

“Are you going back to sleep?” Phil asks. 

“Maybe.” Dan’s voice is muffled. “If that tapping ever stops.” 

“Tapping?” Phil tilts his head to the side. “Oh, Gerald’s hungry!” 

He pushes the blanket down, only remembering belatedly why he hadn’t been doing that. 

Oh well - it’s not like Dan’s never seen a shirtless man before. At least Phil wore pj bottoms to bed and not just tight pants. He goes over to the bag of bird food and fills the little bowl he sets out. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he says to the greedy pigeon waiting. 

“I can’t believe you feed that thing,” Dan says. “How is your balcony not covered in pigeon shit?” 

“He doesn’t shit where he eats,” Phil says. “He’s a civilized gentleman. Gentlepigeon.” 

“How do you even know it’s a he?” 

“He told me,” Phil shoots back. He closes the window again. “I speak bird. Coo coo caw.” 

“Coo coo caw your ass into the kitchen and bring me some cereal, please,” Dan says. 

“Am I running my own bed and breakfast now?” Phil asks, trying to ignore how violently his stomach is flipping at the fact that Dan wants to stay in his bed. 

When he turns, Dan is sitting up a little more. He doesn’t avert his eyes from Phil’s face as he speaks. “Um, yes, and you’re in danger of getting a three star on yelp if you don’t hurry up with my fucking Crunchy Nut.” 

“Fine,” Phil says, grabbing a shirt and tugging it on. “But only because I have to wee anyway.” 

“Don’t forget to wash your hands,” Dan calls out after him. 

Phil checks his hair in the bathroom mirror. It’s hopeless, so he doesn’t bother. And it’s not like Dan’s looks any less of a mess.

He doesn’t bother with bowls or spoons or milk, just grabs the box and heads back to his room. He could probably earn himself some points by making coffee or tea and bringing that as well, but there’s an itching under his skin to get back to Dan immediately in case sitting alone in another man’s bed jolts him to his senses and he decides to flee.

Phil really doesn’t want him to flee. He’s not deluded enough to think anything will happen today, he just… wants. He wants whatever intimacy Dan is willing to give. 

Dan is still there when Phil gets back, in fact he’s so wholeheartedly cocooned in Phil’s blanket that he kind of looks like he never plans to leave.

Phil hands him the box and slips back under the covers, careful to keep his long clumsy limbs to himself. “So.”

“So,” Dan echoes, holding the box to his chest without actually opening it. 

“You got plans today?”

Dan shakes his head. His eyes are on Phil’s like he’s waiting for something. Something bad.

Is he as afraid of losing what’s happening here as Phil is?

“Wanna watch dumb stuff on youtube with me?” Phil asks.

Dan’s answering smile is radiant. “Yeah. Definitely.”

-

Phil’s laptop is nestled into the duvet in the space between their bodies. They’re about forty minutes into clicking on and watching whatever weird shit pops up in Phil’s recommended when Phil gets an email from Martyn. 

He’s fully prepared to ignore it, but when the notification comes and goes and Phil hasn’t made any move to look at it, Dan turns to him. “Isn’t that your brother?”

Phil shrugs. “I’ll look later.”

“It said ‘epic travel photos.’ You don’t wanna see epic travel photos?”

Phil looks at him. “Um. Do you?”

“Of course,” Dan says. “Living vicariously is the only way to do it.” 

“You don’t like travel?” Phil asks. 

Dan shrugs. “I guess my opinion of it is tainted by most of the travel I’ve done in life involving me having to share a hotel room with my brother and listen to my parents bitch or my dad shout at me the entire time. They kept trying to invite me to France with them last year.” 

“Your brother would probably try and make you hike the Swiss Alps barefoot or something.” Phil can’t imagine any fun in that either. “If you could go anywhere, where would you go?” 

“Japan,” Dan says. “I’m a weeb, don’t judge me.” 

“That’s on my bucket list!” Phil smiles at him. “The one Stevie’s making me do.” 

“No shit.” Dan shoves one massive hand into the cereal box and then starts to pick pieces out of his palm full of breakfast. “Maybe we’ll both get lucky and win the lottery and go together.” 

“I want to do one of those naked spring things,” Phil says. “And ride the bullet trains.” 

“Studio Ghibli,” Dan offers. “And the cherry blossoms.” 

“I’d buy loads and loads of things out of vending machines.” 

“I changed my mind, I don’t want to go to Japan with you,” Dan says. “You’d probably end up making me stuff my luggage back with stupid plastic shit you somehow still managed to overpay for.” 

“And Kit-Kats,” Phil says, ignoring Dan’s dig. “All of the Kit-Kats. They have so many flavours there, you know!” 

“I’ve had green tea ones.” Dan tips his cupped palm back and finishes off the cereal. “Those are legit.” 

“Now I want sweets.” Phil sighs and brushes some cereal crumbs off his lap. 

He reaches out and opens the email. The first one is a picture taken of Cornelia from behind. In it she’s stopped in the middle of a path, surrounded by trees on either side. She’s wearing a backpack almost as big as she is and her head is tilted up in wonder, taking in the view of clouds above them and the endless forest path in front. 

He scrolls down through the email, the pictures seemingly endless, each location more breathtaking than the last. He enjoys it less with every passing moment.

He’s not saying anything, and eventually Dan takes notice. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

Phil is almost startled by the perceptiveness. “What?”

“They’re nice photos.”

“They are,” Phil agrees. “Nice photos of pretty places.”

“So what’s got your knickers in a twist, then?”

“Who says they are?”

“Your face, Phil. Your face says it.”

Phil turns his attention back to the computer screen. “I’m happy for them. They deserve to be happy. They’ve always wanted to travel, and now they are. They’re off having adventures and following their dreams and it’s great. It’s brilliant.”

“But…”

Phil sighs. “It’s… it just makes me feel so freaking… boring.”

“You’re not boring.”

Phil shuts his laptop a little more firmly than he needs to and slides it under his bed. “You’re nice. But I’m boring. Honestly, most of the stuff I’ve put on my bucket list is stuff that I want to do but never will because I’m just too bloody—”

“Let’s do one,” Dan interrupts.

“Huh?”

“Let’s cross something off today.”

“We can’t,” Phil says automatically.

“Why not?” Dan demands. “What’s on the list?”

“Uh… Japan.”

“Right, well. Can’t afford that one today, sorry mate.” Dan knocks his knee into Phil’s under the duvet. “What else?”

“Um.” He thinks for a moment. “Get high?”

“We could.”

Phil feels panic flood him instantly. He shakes his head. “We’d have to like… go out and find some, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dan says, smirking, clearly amused by Phil’s innocence.

He shakes his head some more. “Pass, pass. I’d rather be boring.”

“Well what else is there?” Dan asks. “Something doable and out of your comfort zone but not too far out of your comfort zone?”

Phil bites his lip, trying to remember all the things Stevie twisted his arm about. “Um… tattoo?” He’s assuming Dan will give up after that suggestion. 

But he doesn’t. Instead he smiles and says, “Yeah. Perfect. Let’s do that.”

“What?” Phil asks dumbly. 

Dan shrugs. “Why not?” 

“Have you ever gotten a tattoo before?” 

“No,” Dan says. “But this is about you, not me.” 

“I’m not getting a tattoo with someone else that’s not getting a tattoo!” Phil isn’t sure the words he just said made any sense at all, but somehow Dan seems to understand. 

“Why?” 

“It’s like drinking when everyone else is sober,” Phil argues. “It just feels - wrong. Weird. Like I’d be the focus of everything, and I don’t want to be.” 

“But if I get a tattoo too, you’ll get one?” Dan asks. 

“I… I mean. I don’t even know what I’d get.”

“Well, we don’t even know where we’re going yet, so you have time.” Dan grabs the laptop and starts to google. 

Phil’s heart is racing. “I can’t get a tattoo!” 

“Why?” Dan asks. 

“I- my mum would be so mad!” 

Dan laughs. Dan laughs _hard_. “Phil. Mate. You’re thirty-three.” 

“She’s still my mum! Shut up!” Phil says, but… he’s laughing too. 

“Ring her and ask permission then!” 

“No!” 

“Why not!” 

“Because she might say yes!” He’s actually laughing very hard, and so is Dan. He has tears in his eyes by the time he gets it under control, and then he shoves Dan just because he can. 

Dan shoulders him back then turns the laptop around. “This one takes walk-ins and has five stars for cleanliness and hygiene.” 

“Diseases!” Phil shouts. “That’s why I can’t!” 

“Five stars!” Dan shouts back, then in a normal voice adds, “It’s close, too.” 

“Are you really going to get one too?” Phil asks, looking at Dan. 

Dan is still looking down at the website, so Phil takes in a lot of detail this time. His bedhead has calmed down a little. He wonders if Dan tried to fix it while Phil was out getting the cereal earlier. The neckline of his shirt is loose and well worn, showing a sharp collarbone. 

“Yeah,” Dan says. “I actually think I am. I’m tired of being indecisive. I’ve wanted a tattoo for ages. I can at least make up my mind about this.” 

“Do you know what tattoo you want?” Phil asks. His stomach still feels like he’s on one of the roller coasters at Walt Disney World but he’s surprised at the sureness in his voice. 

“I have an idea. Do you?”

“No,” Phil admits. “Got any ideas for me?”

Dan looks up from the computer and right at Phil. Right in his eyes. He chews absentmindedly at his lip for a moment, then says, “You got a pen in here? Or a sharpie, maybe?”

Phil gets up wordlessly and rummages around the messy corners of his room until he finds a clickable blue sharpie and crawls back into bed. His hand shakes just the littlest bit as he hands the marker to Dan.

“Where do you want it?” Dan asks. His voice is soft, too soft when he’s laid next to Phil in his bed. It’s all way too much and Phil never wants it to end. 

“Don’t know,” Phil says back quietly.

Dan takes his hand, turning it over to expose his wrist, then clicks the sharpie open and brings the tip down to Phil’s skin.

“Tickles,” Phil murmurs. Dan is holding the back of his hand in his palm. His big soft palm. Phil forgets to watch what Dan’s drawing, too busy watching those long fingers.

Then the sharpie clicks back closed and Dan lets go of Phil’s hand. “How’s that?”

Phil looks down at the shape of a bolt of blue lightning.

“For your dad,” Dan says.

Phil’s throat goes tight in an instant. He reaches out like he means to trace the lines, but he stops himself, not wanting to smudge the ink. “It’s perfect.”

Dan smiles. “Yeah?”

“I… yeah. Yeah.”

“Well good, then.” He turns to the side to deposit the sharpie on the nightstand, then faces Phil again. “You ready?”

“Now?” Phil’s voice pitches up anxiously.

“Definitely now. If we don’t go now, you’ll talk yourself out of it.”

“Maybe that’s a sign.”

“It’s not,” Dan argues. “We’re gonna go do an un-boring thing. We’re gonna cross something big off your list, and cross something off mine, as well.” He claps his hand down on Phil’s shoulder. “You can do it, Lester.”

Phil lets himself feel the weight of that touch for just a moment, then nods. “Alright.” 

-

He really can’t do this. 

That’s the message his heart is pounding out in morse code as they walk through the dreary streets of London to the tattoo parlour Dan found for them. 

It’s still raining enough to need jackets with the hoods pulled up, but nothing close to the previous night’s downpour. Dan doesn’t seem phased by it in the daylight, anyway; he’s moving ahead with a singular focus. 

“Do you want to go first?” Dan asks. 

“Um. I don’t know. Do I?” 

Dan looks over at him and laughs. “I can’t answer that for you.” 

“Yeah,” Phil says. “Yeah, I want to go first. Otherwise I might have time to overthink it.” 

“Overthinking is overrated,” Dan says. His eyes seem bright, almost sparkling, and Phil wonders if it’s all adrenaline or something more. He feels like he’s seeing a new side of Dan - a side he likes, a side that makes him feel brave and makes him not want to disappoint Dan. He wants that happiness shining at him, he wants to keep saying and doing things that make that rosy patch on his cheek flush. 

Dan stops and pushes a door open. The tattoo parlour doesn’t look anything like the seedy places Phil has seen on television. The walls are painted a deep royal blue and there’s a collection of furniture - sofas and plush chairs and a tea table. There are large, neatly framed poster sized prints all over the room - they’re all tattoos, ink etched onto various body parts. 

Phil’s eyes bounce from frame to frame, taking it in. He’s still not an art critic by any means, but he is developing the appreciation for it he never really had before. This is artwork, there’s no doubt about it. 

He walks up to one and stares at it. It’s a woman but only from the knees down. She’s standing barefoot in the sand and he can see the inked image of a baby’s footprint drawn onto her skin. 

“I love that one,” a woman says. 

Phil jumps. He hadn’t even heard her approach. 

“I rang about an hour ago,” Dan says. “Do you still have time to fit two in?” 

She smiles. Both her arms are tattooed from the wrists up to and under the sleeves of her t-shirt. If Phil saw her on the street he’d probably be intimidated, but for some reason in this place, it’s comforting.

“I’ve got nothing but time,” she says. “It’s a slow day. Just a bit of paperwork for you then we can get you sorted right out. Do you both already know what you want?” 

“Yeah,” Dan says. “We do.” 

He still hasn’t told Phil what he’s getting. 

“Who’s up first?” she asks.

Dan points at Phil. Phil wonders if he looks as green as he feels. 

“What do you want and where do you want it?”

Phil laughs. He’s not sure why; he just feels a bit like a pot of water that’s boiling over. “Um.” He holds his wrist out to her. “I want this.”

“Simple enough,” she says, politely disinterested. He’s a bit embarrassed that he’s not coming to her with some cool art, but having Dan right next to him helps. Knowing Dan chose a design for him based on something deeply personal and close to Phil’s heart makes it all feel a lot less scary. 

He turns to Dan. “Where should I get it?”

“Where do you want it?”

Phil's immediate response is: “Somewhere my mum can’t see.”

Dan looks at him. “Or,” he says slowly. “Maybe somewhere everyone can see?”

Phil realizes he’s right. Of course he’s right.

-

He’s sat in the chair, reclined at about forty five degrees, staring up at the ceiling and trying to remind himself how to breathe. The tattoo artist - whose name he forgot the instant she told him - is pulling on a pair of black latex gloves. If Phil wasn’t pissing himself he’d make a joke about needing a safe word.

The stencil of the lightning bolt has already been transferred onto his skin. Dan is sat beside him in a chair of his own, but he’s just a spectator now. Phil feels a bit like a zoo animal. 

“So,” the artist says, spinning her chair to face him and rolling over a little closer. “First time?”

He barks a laugh. “How could you tell?”

“You’ll be alright,” she says, smiling reassuringly. 

“It’s not gonna hurt?”

“Oh, no. It’s gonna hurt.” She picks up the gun. It’s really a terrifying piece of equipment. “The inside of the wrist is a sensitive spot. Lots of tendons there, and the skin is thin.”

He winces. 

“It’s a small design. Shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes at the most.”

He nods, already feeling the cold sweat gathering at the small of his back and along his hairline. 

“If you feel like you’re gonna sick or pass out, tell me and we’ll take a break, yeah?”

“Oh god,” he whimpers under his breath. “Okay.”

“You ready?”

For some reason, he turns and looks at Dan. 

Dan smiles widely, giving Phil a fucking indecent show of dimple. “You got this, Lester.”

Phil turns to the artist and nods. “Let’s get this over with.”

The gun makes a horrible loud buzzing noise. Phil’s not proud of the way he jumps, and he’s really not proud of the gasp that leaves his mouth when she brings the needle down on his skin. 

“You okay?” she asks, eyebrows raised at him. She must think he’s utterly ridiculous.

He nods and she continues, but it really does hurt and he rather hates it, so he turns his face back in Dan’s direction and mouths _oh my god_.

Dan is grinning something fierce. “You’re such a baby, Phil.”

“I know,” Phil grits. “But it feels like what it is, a billion needles jabbing into my freaking skin.”

The tattoo artist smirks as she works, clearly amused by Phil’s utter lack of chill.

He hisses when the needle travels over one of the aforementioned tendons. It feels a bit like burning, but a kind that is only _just_ mild enough not to flinch away from screaming.

He looks at Dan with eyes that plead for mercy, even though that’s not actually Dan’s to give. 

Dan is still smiling. “Need me to hold your hand?” he teases.

And Phil knows that’s what it is: teasing. But it doesn’t stop him from saying, “Yes,” and grabbing for Dan’s hand with his.

He grips Dan like a vice at first. Like a stress ball and nothing more.

But then Dan is stroking his thumb over Phil’s knuckles and Phil’s brain does an about-face, switching his focus from the pain of the needle to the pleasure of Dan touching him like that. 

“Let me guess, you hate getting jabs at the doctor, too?” Dan asks. 

“Of course!” Phil says. He’s sure Dan is just trying to distract him with conversation. He wishes he could tell Dan it isn’t necessary, that soft touch is doing plenty to distract. “Who doesn’t hate jabs?” 

Dan shrugs. “I don’t mind them. They’re not bad unless you get like an actual evil beast as your doctor.” 

“You’re a freak,” Phil informs him. 

“I also like going to the dentist. I like when they get the drill out. Like, yeah, make it hurt, daddy. Drill me more.” 

Phil makes a shock laughing sound. “Did you just say _daddy_?” 

Dan grins. “I mean, yeah, if the dentist is a guy. If it’s a woman - I don’t know. Mistress?” 

“Why is one daddy and one mistress? Why wouldn’t the other be mum or mummy?” 

“Okay now you’re just being depraved.” Dan’s voice is full of exaggerated scorn and disgust, but his touch is still soft. Phil has relaxed enough that he’s not using Dan as a human stress toy, and he can feel how Dan’s fingers are holding his. 

“I’m… I forgot what I was going to say,” he admits. 

Dan frowns. “Does it hurt that badly?” 

No. “Yeah, a bit. I’m just… a wimp with pain.” 

“Well, at least you picked a small one,” Dan says. He looks over and Phil can tell he’s watching the artist work. 

Phil’s stomach lurches pleasantly again when he remembers that he’s getting something Dan designed on his skin forever. It’s not as though he’s getting it for Dan - that’d be daft, they’ve only known each other a few months. But that Dan knew him well enough to draw something out that fit so perfectly with the memories Phil wants to keep forever… 

He squeezes his eyes shut and tells himself the prickle of tears he manages to keep at bay are a result of the pain and the adrenaline and nothing else. 

“Alright,” she says, after an eternity and yet somehow far too short a period of time. The buzzing stops and she leans back. “All done.”

He looks down at it. It looks a mess, honestly; there is a faint prickling of blood against his skin and his whole wrist around it is an angry red color. “Oh—” 

“It’ll look better in a day or two,” Dan says. 

He still hasn’t let go of Phil’s hand. Maybe he doesn’t remember that he’s actually holding it? Phil doesn’t want to remind him. 

“He’s right,” the tattoo artist says. “And I’ll be sending you home with some cream and a covering for it. We’ll go over the whole process.” 

She looks to Dan. “Your turn now, mate?” 

Dan squeezes Phil’s hand, and this time Phil isn’t sure if it’s giving reassurance so much as seeking it. “Need me to hold your hand too?” he asks, teasing because it’s clear that between the two of them Dan is far less nervous about this process. 

Dan looks at him and nods. “Yeah, actually. I do.”

Phil’s heart feels too big for his chest all of a sudden. 

Their hands come apart, but only long enough for Phil to get out of the chair and Dan to get in. The artist goes off to clean her equipment and print out Dan’s stencil. Apparently he’d showed her what he wanted right after Phil had done the same, but Phil had been too preoccupied with his terror to pay attention. 

Dan settles himself in the chair and then reaches for Phil’s hand to lace their fingers together. “I’m good with pain, but that buzzing sound is right scary.”

Phil nods, entranced by the way the two of them fit together.

“Plus, you know. Commitment issues.”

“It’s not too late to change your mind,” Phil says. “I won’t be put out.”

Dan shakes his head. “I’ve known for a long time what I would get if I ever had the courage to do it. And seeing you go through with it was like…” He rolls his eyes at himself. And maybe at Phil. “It was inspiring, alright?”

Phil beams. “Wow. You find me inspiring. Can I get that in writing?”

Dan scrunches his nose at Phil, but doesn’t tell him off. Then the artist comes back in her wheeled chair and asks Dan where he wants the stencil. Dan holds up the hand that’s not holding Phil’s. “Wrist, same as him.”

“Aw, matching?” she coos. “You lot are bloody adorable together.”

Phil’s panic is immediate, but when his eyes flick over to catch Dan’s reaction, the emotion is very suddenly flipped on its head. Dan is smiling to himself, looking down at his leg like he’s trying very hard to be cool. The rosy patch is out in all its glory, and he doesn’t try to correct her or snatch his hand back from where Phil’s gripping it.

Neither of them end up correcting her. Phil is floating in the clouds until he watches the artist peel the stencil back from Dan’s wrist to reveal the clean black outline of a semicolon.

Phil looks up to Dan’s face, and it turns out Dan is already looking at him with an expression Phil can’t quite read. Apprehension, maybe. Fear.

Phil looks back down to Dan’s wrist. Right below the stencil are two thin, faint white lines of scar tissue that Phil had never noticed before. He may never have done if he hadn’t been looking with such laser focus now.

His throat feels like it’s swelling up, but Dan squeezes his hand and looks right into his eyes and Phil wills himself not to make something that very much isn't about him into something about him. He squeezes back.

“Ready?” the artist asks, and Dan nods.

He really is good with the pain. He looks completely unbothered, head tilted back against the headrest of the chair. He doesn’t let go of Phil’s hand, but again it’s a gentle touch, not like he needs it, but like he wants it. His eyes are closed and Phil might think he’s actually relaxed, except that eventually he becomes aware of the single tear that’s rolled down the side of Dan’s face.

He wants to reach out and wipe it away, but he won’t. He can’t imagine what’s happening inside Dan’s head right now, but he knows it’s not for him. 

When it’s done, Dan opens his eyes and wipes the moisture away like he doesn’t care who sees. He gives Phil’s hand one last squeeze before letting go, then examines the ink on his wrist and the angry red of his skin and Phil is slightly afraid that he’s going to cry for real. Not that it would be bad, he just knows if Dan cries, then he’s going to cry too, and he’d really rather not do that in the middle of a tattoo shop.

But Dan doesn’t cry. He smiles, and tells the artist it’s perfect, and to her credit, she seems to understand that it’s a big moment for Dan. She puts her hand on his shoulder and squeezes it and says, “It’s a privilege for me,” and fuck, okay, Phil is definitely crying a little bit, but he manages to reign it in before it gets too out of hand. 

-

They’re quiet as they leave the shop. 

The rain has finally stopped. Everything around them looks fresh and damp and new, the sky above vibrant and blue and the greens of the plantlife decorating city streets greener than Phil thinks maybe it’s ever been. 

His hand feels strange without Dan’s in it, but they’re both carrying small bags of leaflets about tattoo aftercare and antibiotic ointment. Their wrists are wrapped in plastic and Phil has to force himself to stop studying his or he’ll get woozy at the way the blood and ink oozing out are smeared against the plastic. 

“It’s going to be on my skin forever,” Phil says. “That’s so weird.” 

“Regrets?” Dan asks. 

Phil does think about it, but shakes his head. “No. It’s cool. Like, really freaking cool. Maybe the coolest thing I’ve ever done.” 

Dan laughs softly. “Yeah. Me too.” 

Phil wants to say more about Dan’s tattoo, but Dan hasn’t offered any more information and Phil… he wants it to be Dan’s choice, not an obligation. If Dan wants to tell him, Dan will. If he doesn’t… that’s alright. Everything isn’t for him to know. 

The important thing is that Dan is standing beside him, flesh and blood and dimples and softness. “Thanks for this,” Phil says softly. “For everything.” 

Dan tilts his head over at Phil. “I feel like I should be thanking you.” 

“Got plans for the rest of the day?” Phil asks. He’s not sure if he’s being greedy with Dan’s time or not, but he doesn’t want this to be over. 

Maybe Dan doesn’t either, because Dan just shrugs and looks over at him. “We’ve got a long list of movies to keep going through, don’t we?” 

Phil smiles. “Yeah, we do.”


	23. Chapter 23

*

*

“The flat’s going to be so empty without you,” Phil sulks, watching Dan as he stands at the fridge finishing off the last of a bottle of juice. 

“Don’t lie.” Dan wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. They’ve long since given up standing on any sort of formality with things like that. “You’re gonna throw a rager, aren’t you? All the blow and hookers.” 

“If blow and hookers are code words for microwave popcorn and watching television naked, then sure,” Phil says. “So much blow and hookers.” 

“You’re not right in the head.” Dan tosses the juice bottle into the recycling and then knocks on Phil’s head with his knuckles. 

“No thoughts,” Phil says. “Head empty.” 

“Exactly as I suspected.” 

Phil actually does feel things about Dan leaving overnight, though. He’s going to Brighton, just too far away to take the train there and home in one day, and his company is putting him up in a hotel room anyway, so why wouldn’t he enjoy it? 

Even if it means leaving Phil alone in this flat for the first time. 

He doesn’t harp on that aspect too much, though. Besides the fact that it’s mildly embarrassing that he’s already so attached to Dan that he doesn’t want to go a period of twenty for hours without seeing him, he knows Dan isn’t really looking forward to this either. 

As if reading his mind Dan says, “I’m still angry I couldn’t get out of it.” 

“It does sound fun, though,” Phil says. “An actual film premiere!” 

“Meh,” Dan says. “Not as fun as you’d think.” 

“You’ll get to meet famous people.” 

“Trust me, there’s no one that famous in this. Probably has credits like… Drunk extra from Shameless. Guy who sat three rows behind Rupert Grint in one of the Harry Potter movies. That sort.” 

“If there’s anyone from Coronation Street there, you have to get a picture. My mum will go nuts.” 

“Well, if it gets me in good with Kath…” Dan sighs and picks up his bag. “I should go.” 

“Wait,” Phil says. 

Dan waits. 

Phil didn’t actually need him to, but in his flustered desperation he says, “You need a snack.” 

“A snack?” 

“For the train,” Phil says. “My mum never let me leave without a snack.” 

Dan’s smile is amused. “That so?” 

It is so, actually. Phil goes into the kitchen and comes back with chocolate chip hobnobs, the ones he started buying when he read they’re actually vegan. 

“Phil, you’re sacrificing your biscuits for me?” Dan puts a hand to his heart briefly before taking them from Phil and putting them in the side of his backpack. 

“Only because I’m going to eat your ice cream.” 

“Fine,” Dan says, and then they’re back to lingering. “Alright, okay. I have to go. Don’t burn the flat down.” 

Phil laughs. It’s a touch thready, almost nervous. He understands he’s being ridiculous, he just can’t stop it. “Yeah. I mean, I’ll try to. Try not to. One of those.” 

Dan’s smile looks impossibly fond as he opens the door. “Bye, Phil.” 

-

Phil practices some superhuman self restraint by not texting Dan every five minutes. He has a nostalgic group text conversation with Ian and Ben about the horror film they all made together when they were kids. He goes out for coffee, and on the way back home he stops into a shop and buys a truly heinous amount of junk food knowing Dan won’t be around to take the piss out of him for it.

All in all, he lasts a few hours from the time Dan left for the train. And then Phil’s home again, and hit his limit for not talking to Dan. He cracks the instant he’s flopped onto the couch with his bag of sweets.

_I require an update now, Howell._

The response is absolutely immediate. _just got here and i’m already gagging to leave why did you let me do this_

Phil smiles. _Oh come on, Brighton’s nice. Sea breeze and all that._

_i’m not at the sea i’m at this dumb thing surrounded by pompous film buffs_

_You’ve found your people!_

_haha fuck you im too agoraphobic for this shit_

Phil is beaming down at his phone. He tears open a packet of Tangfastics with his teeth and shoves three in his mouth without taking the time to carefully curate his choice like he usually does. _Well maybe next time you’ll just have to bring me along._

A flurry of messages from Dan ping Phil’s phone one after the other.

_i’ll stow you in my suitcase_  
_ugh okay i have to go be professional and mingle and shit_  
_oh hey i’m gonna be part of a live podcast panel reviewing the film directly afterwards_  
_they asked and i was too awkward to say i’d rather lick a dirty toilet so_  
_yeah_  
_you could listen if you fancy_

He sends Phil the link.

_alright phone going off for real now_  
_try not to let any of the strippers’ bodily fluids get on the sofa_  
_l8r sk8r_

-

Phil does actually try to put the time he has before Dan’s podcast starts to some measure of productive use.

He blasts music while he sorts out laundry and does the dishes and actually manages to put both the clean clothes and the clean cutlery away. 

He definitely isn’t doing it as a pleasant surprise for when Dan comes home. He’s definitely not already mentally skipping past his day off today and ahead because it’s just not as fun being alone. 

He’s just starting a new Final Fantasy playthrough when Stevie gives him a call. 

“Are you calling me to come in to work?” he asks, halfway hopeful about it. 

She laughs at him. “Non, I’m sorry. I actually closed up early, wasn’t feeling the whole working thing today. I was actually ringing to see if you wanted to go get a drink, perhaps? Or dinner? Théo is abandoning me to go watch football.” 

He’s sure the dramatics in her voice are more for Théo’s benefit than his own. “Well, if you’re being abandoned… I suppose I could be talked into it.” 

An hour later he’s freshly showered and dressed up in what passes for a nicer outfit to him; a blue button up with a design of pugs all over it and his nicer black jeans that aren’t yet paint splattered from work. 

Stevie looks nice as well, but she always does. She’s wearing a purple off the shoulder shirt with a hot pink bra strap clearly visible underneath. He grins - they don’t match at all, their styles are worlds apart, but he loves how much the clothing she wears fits her personality. 

“I’ve never been here before,” he says, looking around. 

It’s a pizza place, but not the Dominos sort - actual pizza, small personal sized ones with bubbling cheese on top and blistered crusts. The smell makes his mouth water. 

“So many places you’ve never been, mon chou,” she says. “Luckily for us the years are endless and so are our appetites.” 

A waiter approaches and he lets Stevie order for him, finding no issue with her choice of a focaccia appetizer and a bottle of pinot nero to split. 

He briefly wonders if the waiter thinks they’re a couple. If he looks at Phil and Stevie and has any consideration at all of them as a unit, or if they’re just two faces in a sea of them coming in and out of the doors of the restaurant and gives it no further thought than that. 

He hasn’t had any close female friends in years, not since before uni. He isn’t used to being perceived alone with a woman and it’s a strange place to find himself in. It’s a strange discomfort to marvel over, an amusement more than a bother, but he finds it chased away with the first glass of wine. 

His pizza, when it comes, is just as delicious as Stevie promised it would be. “I have to bring Dan here,” he says, moaning around a too-hot bite of crispy, chewy dough and salami and peppers and everything else that goes into making a culinary masterpiece that he needs in his stomach as soon as possible. “Do they do vegan pizzas?” 

“They do,” she says, glowing with the happiness that comes with a suggestion paying off. 

“He likes fancy stuff, he’ll love this place.”

She laughs at him. “Only you would think pizza is fancy.”

“It’s fancy pizza! Any place that serves wine is at least thirty seven percent fancy.”

“Phil, I’m French, wine is like water to me.”

“Yeah but Dan and I are English plebs.” He frowns suspiciously at the smirk on Stevie’s face. “What?”

“Oh nothing. I just like the way you say ‘Dan and I.’ It’s very adorable.”

Phil rolls his eyes, but then has a sudden thought. “Oh! I’m meant to be listening to his podcast about now.”

“Podcast?”

“He went to a film premiere in Brighton and I guess they’re doing like a live review after. He sent me the link.” His heart sinks knowing he has to miss it, but Stevie has other plans.

“Well get your phone out, then, mon chou.”

“What?”

“Come on come on, we don’t want to miss it, do we?”

“You’re serious?”

“Of course! I want to hear professional Dan in action.”

He reckons she also wants more ammunition to tease him about his crush, but he’s not bothered. He’s still floating a little that Dan even invited him to listen in at all. He pulls out his phone and clicks the link that opens up the podcast app on his phone. 

Turns out their timing is perfect. It seems to have started a few minutes ago, but the host is still blathering in about sponsors, so they haven’t really missed anything. Phil risks Stevie squealing her delight by sending Dan a quick text that reads simply: _I’m listening!!!_

Dan texts back: _welp now if i embarrass myself i guess i cant come back home_

Phil grins and turns the volume up. They’re introducing Dan now so Phil doesn’t bother responding. It gives him a thrill of pride at the way they talk about him - like someone accomplished, like someone influential. 

They talk about the film first, the director and some of the cast. It’s not the sort of movie Phil has much interest in and he doesn’t know that much about it but he still enjoys how Dan lays out his thoughts about it. It makes Phil smile to hear that Dan is very clearly the toughest critic on the panel. Phil makes a mental note to tease him for it later

Eventually they move on to a game segment, a movie trivia quiz where Dan has to eat something gross for each thing he gets wrong. He effectively dodges the worst of the punishments by telling them he’s vegan, but still has to do one when he fails to identify that “ _Yeah, well, that’s just like, uh, your opinion, man,_ ” is a line from The Big Lebowski. 

“I think that’s on the list,” Dan says, after making a production of having to toss back a shot of pickle juice. 

“List?” the podcast host asks. 

“Oh, yeah, my friend - he’s on this mission to make sure I see every movie that I tragically missed in the 1990s. Why couldn’t you have asked me one from the Back to the Future, mate? We watched that on night one. Or The Matrix. That one was actually good.”

Stevie looks at Phil with unbridled glee on her face, and he can’t help smiling back. The host starts on about how the friend sounds like he’s vying for Dan’s job but Phil’s still mulling over Dan calling him friend not flatmate. 

Of course, there are a lot of other things that Phil would like for Dan to call him, but friend has a pretty nice ring to it right now. It’s more than enough to make Phil feel warm and happy. 

“He sounds to be as fond of you as you are of him,” Stevie says.

“Shh.” He swats gently at her leg. They’re sat right beside each other now, practically huddled over his phone. They’ve ordered dessert and coffee just for an excuse to keep their table without dirty looks from the waiters. “You can’t say these things.”

“Pourquoi pas?”

“English please.”

She rolls her eyes. “Why not?”

“Because you’ll put ideas in my head.”

“I think you’ve gotten plenty in there without my help.”

He opens his mouth to retort, but snaps it back shut when it’s Dan’s voice he hears again coming out of his phone. He’s attempting to defend himself against the onslaught of his fellow critics chastising him for his incomplete base of filmographic knowledge and failing miserably.

“You owe your mate there a cut of whatever you make from now on!” someone shouts. 

“Oh for sure,” Dan agrees, his voice going soft. “I reckon I actually owe him a lot more than that.”

Phil’s stomach flips. He looks at Stevie and for once she’s speechless.

Almost. “Putain de merde.”

Phil doesn’t really need a translation for that one. 

-

He’s got a faint but pleasant buzz from the wine and caffeine going when he steps into the darkened flat an hour later. He and Dan have been texting off and on enough for him to know that Dan’s at the premiere after party, and also that he very much doesn’t want to be there. 

_Is it a fancy premiere?_ Phil asks, nudging the fridge closed after pulling out a soda. _What are you wearing?_

Dan responds: _oh is it that kinda night now?_ with a suspicious emoji. 

Phil does a very slight spit take. It’s more of a dribble take. He wipes his chin off before he texts back. 

_No!! I just haven’t seen you dressed up._

He gets a picture response back. It’s a full body pose taken in a floor length mirror, and Phil’s mouth instantly goes dry. Dan’s wearing a black shirt with some sort of snazzy zip up the front and a black jacket with silvery threads through it. He has silver hoops in his ears and black paint on his nails and Phil can just barely see the bottom dot of his tattoo peeking out. 

_nothing?_

Phil fumbles with his phone and replies. _sorry !! you just look good_

Dan doesn’t respond for a couple of minutes, enough time that Phil starts to wonder if that was too much. 

Then he gets another text, this time a blurrier selfie in bad lighting. It’s Dan holding a drink to his lips. The text that accompanies it says, _only good thing about these parties_

Phil sends back a cocktail emoji. 

_what are you up to_

_Blow and hookers_ , Phil responds. He puts his phone down on the arm of the sofa and changes into pajamas, smiling at the series of dings. 

_by blow do you mean drugs or………._  
_do the hookers all have six pack abs_  
_pics pls_  
_oi lester are you ignoring me_

_No._ Phil grins at his phone. _I was getting naked._

_le gasp_

_And then unnaked. Putting pajamas on._

_were you out_

_Yah wild night with Stevie. We had PIZZA._

_um jealous_

_I’ll take you to the place we went, Phil writes. It was so good. And they do vegan!_

Dan responds with three okay finger sign emojis. 

He drops off again for a while and Phil doesn’t mind. He watches a bit of youtube, tries to figure out what’s on telly, even thinks about poking Ian for some gaming. But he’s just restless and bored and if Dan does text back he doesn’t want to have to wait to respond. 

Turns out he doesn’t have to wait long. 

_i’m blowing this popsicle stand_

Phil grins and closes out of the video entirely. _Popsicle? You watch too many American films_

_it’s literally my job m8_  
_you gonna be up in like 20 minutes?_

Phil looks at the time. He’s surprised to find he lost more time to his last youtube spiral than he’d realized, but it’s still not that late. Not that it would matter either way. If Dan wanted to chat all night, Phil would put on a pot of coffee. _Yeah, why?_

 _idk_ , Dan responds. _a little drunk and empty hotel rooms make me emo_

_I don’t want you to be emo. Only happy Dans allowed_

_then don’t ditch me for your strippers lester_

_I’d choose you over strippers any day_

He’s got that flutter quick heartbeat that comes with a small act of bravery. That comes with the fear of possible rejection. 

Dan’s response erases the fear. _ditto_

-

Twenty minutes later, Phil has crawled into bed. He’s not even pretending he isn’t staring at his phone waiting for Dan to be done taking off his fancy premiere clothes and climbing into his own bed to ring Phil.

It doesn’t stop his heart leaping when his mobile starts ringing. 

“Good morning,” he says cheerily.

“Good afternoon,” Dan counters. “Are you drunk too? Pretty sure it’s nighttime out there.”

“I’m not. Not anymore. I only had a couple glasses of wine and that was hours ago.”

“Wine, eh?” Dan asks. His voice is lower than normal and warm in Phil’s ear even despite the distance and the slight filter the phone puts on it. “Wine with a pretty lady. Was Théo there? Do I need to be jealous?”

“I’m sure you had lots of fancy drinks of your own.”

“That’s… not what I meant.”

Phil rolls onto his stomach, smushing his face into the pillow. “Shut up,” he garbles into the fabric. 

“That’s my line.”

“You were probably surrounded by pretty people all day,” Phil says, rolling onto his back again.

“Couldn’t say,” Dan replies. “Wasn’t looking.”

Phil takes a breath. “I bet people were looking at you.” His whole body feels like one tightly coiled muscle.

“Wouldn’t know if they were,” Dan says. “I spent most of the night texting you, when I wasn’t being forced into the actual most boring conversations with pretentious twats who wanted to dissect things like lighting and the director’s choice of wallpaper in a specific scene.” 

Phil laughs a little, but it sounds loud in the utter quiet of his room. “But you love dissecting things like that.” 

“Only with good movies,” Dan says. “And it’s more fun with you.”

“You did look good, though,” Phil says. “I bet there were people looking.” 

_I’d have been looking_ , he wants to say, but bites his tongue. It feels safer to let Dan have the reins with that. 

“I’m gonna bring you with me next time,” Dan says. “When there’s a proper fancy one. If only so I can see you in a suit.”

Phil can’t take this. It’s too much like some kind of fantasy. Too much like his actual fantasies. “You’d likely be disappointed.”

Dan makes a clicking sound with his tongue. “I wouldn’t.”

It almost makes Phil hard. He feels a jolt in his stomach and a tingle between his legs and he hates himself for that reaction, but it’s entirely impossible to prevent his body’s response to Dan… confessing attraction? Is that actually what’s happening? He’s not just imagining it?

He wants to push. He wants to flirt. He wants to make Dan tell him more, tell him everything, spill his every repressed thought. Because he’s pretty sure now that Dan’s got them. It all makes sense, everything Phil had been trying to convince himself was wishful thinking or ambiguous wording. It hasn’t been.

He wants to push, but he’s pretty sure that his lack of pressure is the only reason Dan feels bold enough - safe enough? - to speak freely now, when he’s a bit drunk, when it’s late, when there’s a sixty mile gap between them. And he’d rather drown in his own frustration than risk shattering that feeling of safety for Dan. 

He must take too long to respond, because Dan is speaking again, pulling Phil from his thoughts. “Do you still talk to your ex there, what’s his name?”

“Ben.”

“Ben, right. Ben.”

“Sometimes.”

“What does he look like?” Dan asks.

“Um. Just your average bloke, I guess? Blond-ish hair. Green eyes. Bit shorter than us. He plays rugby now so he’s a bit more hench than he was when we were younger.”

“So he’s fit.”

Phil can’t help chuckling. “I mean. Yeah.”

“Is that your type?”

“What, fit?”

“I guess. Or blond. Athletic. Short.”

Phil stares up at his ceiling and tries to will his blood not to burst into flames. “I don’t have a type.”

“Everyone does.”

“Well,” Phil says, “what’s yours?”

Dan laughs. “Mate, if I could answer that with any level of confidence, my life would be a lot less complicated.” 

It’s not really the answer Phil had been expecting, but he supposes he should know by now that Dan’s anything but predictable. “It can be complicated,” he agrees. “But that’s alright.” 

He knows his version of complicated and Dan’s probably aren’t the same. There are certain things about himself that Phil never doubted, and he can’t know what Dan’s experience was. But the one thing he has come to understand over the years is that when there’s something about you that makes you feel different from everyone around you, it’s always going to be a complicated feeling. 

“My type is people who make me laugh,” Dan says. His voice has gone back to that soft place. “And know how I take my coffee. People who just… accept me.” 

“Anyone who didn’t accept you was an actual idiot,” Phil says. 

“I’ve known a lot of idiots in my life, then.” 

“Well,” Phil admits. “You probably have. But I’m not one of them.” 

“I know that.” Dan sounds like he’s smiling. “I know you’re not.” 

“My type is also people who make me laugh,” Phil declares.

“Laughing is good.”

“People who laugh with me and not at me.”

Dan’s response is a hum.

Phil closes his eyes. He needs darkness for what he’s going to say next. “When I first moved here… I felt like I might never laugh again. I think I’d forgotten how to laugh.”

The other end of the phone is dead silent, but Phil knows Dan’s still there.

Phil clears his throat. “Now I laugh every day.”

“Yeah?” Dan asks quietly.

“Yeah. There’s… I've got this flatmate.”

He can practically hear the smile in Dan’s voice. “Yeah?”

His heart is fucking pounding. It’s genuinely painful. “He’s a really funny guy.”

“You’ll have to introduce him to me some time,” Dan says. 

“No way. He’s mine, get your own.” Phil bites his lip then, to be safe, adds, “My flatmate, I mean.” 

“Your flatmate.” Dan sounds amused, not put off, to Phil’s relief. “Well, fine then. Keep your flatmate all to yourself.” 

“I will once he gets back,” Phil says. “Gonna chain him to the sofa so we can watch… what was next on the list?” 

“American Pie. Which I can’t believe you’re actually making me watch.” 

Phil cackles. “It’s a rite of passage!” 

“He puts his penis in a pie.” 

Phil tries valiantly to pretend that Dan saying the word penis doesn’t also get him in a teeny, tiny way. “We should have pie when we watch it.”

“Phil. I know you like to mimic the viewing experience, but I don’t think we need to go that far—” 

“To eat!” Phil squeaks out. “Not to… you know.” 

Dan’s laughing too hard to reply right away. “Sure. Sure, that’s what you meant. I totally believe.” 

“I hate you,” Phil sulks. 

“Mm. I don’t think you do.” 

“Fine, I maybe don’t hate you. Just a bit.” 

Dan’s calmed down from the fit of laughter. “Good. I’ve had flatmates who hated me, I’m not about that life anymore.” 

“No,” Phil agrees. “You’re not. You’ll never have a flatmate who hates you again.” 

“Wow, never?” 

Is that too much? It’s probably too much. “Not if I have any say.”

Dan says, “You can have a say.”

“How could anyone hate you?” Phil asks. “I don’t understand that.”

“I was worried you hated me at first.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I was a dick?” Dan says. 

“You weren’t. You shared your pizza.”

Dan just laughs. 

“You told me it was okay to be sad,” Phil says, more serious now. “No one had really said that to me. Everyone wanted me to be less sad, but you told me it was okay. It made me feel…” He stops a moment to think. “Less broken.”

Dan is quiet for a while, and then there’s a long exhale. “Don’t make me emo, Phil. That was the deal. No emo Dans.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, just—” He exhales again, a long sigh of air that Phil can almost feel the warmth of. “I’m glad I’m coming home tomorrow.”

“Me too,” Phil almost whispers. “Doesn’t feel right without you.”

“I’m glad it doesn’t.” Dan yawns loudly. “My train back is meant to leave at noon but I may try to get one earlier.” 

“Yeah?” Phil’s stomach swoops pleasantly. “I only work the morning. I’ll be home after lunch.”

“We could have lunch together. Then just, I don’t know. Chill and do nothing all day. Watch movies. I can kick your ass at Mario Kart.” 

“Yeah,” Phil says. “Wait, no. Stevie’s got her thing. Art show. That’s why she’s closing the shop in the afternoon, to get ready for it.”

“Oh,” Dan says. “And you’re going?” 

“Yeah, but…” Phil only hesitates for the briefest second. “You could go with me.” 

“To Stevie’s art show?” Dan asks. “You’d want to take me?”

The way Dan says it makes fireworks explode behind Phil’s eyes. He shuts them just to enjoy the colors. “Yeah. I’d want that. Stevie’s having a party afterward, too.” 

“Ugh,” Dan groans. “I hope it’s nothing like tonight’s party.” 

“This will be a nice party. I’ll be there,” Phil promises. “You don’t have to get nearly as dressed up. And it’s just at Stevie’s house. Her art friends are cool, anyway.” 

“You’ll stick by me?” Dan asks. “Hold my hand if I get scared around all the strangers?” 

Phil can’t imagine Dan actually being scared, but he still smiles. “Yeah, absolutely.” 

“Hold it even if I’m not scared.” 

Dan just wants to hold his hand. Maybe it won’t actually happen, maybe this is distance making hearts both fonder and braver, but either way - Dan said it. “Yeah. I will.” 

“Alright, fine then. I’ll go to another party. Just for you.” Dan sighs, and then yawns again. 

“You should sleep,” Phil says. “It’s almost midnight.” 

“I don’t normally sleep this early,” Dan argues. 

“Yeah, but you had a busy day.” 

“Alright, mum.” 

“Ew.” Phil laughs. “Don’t call me that.” 

“What’s wrong with my mum?” Dan asks, teasing. 

Phil actually does reckon there’s plenty wrong with her based on some of the things Dan has said about his childhood, but he doesn’t think this is the moment for that so instead he responds, “I’d rather be your… flatmate.” 

“My flatmate,” Dan repeats. 

“That you’re going to come home to tomorrow. See, that’s why you should sleep. So tomorrow comes faster.” 

“I want to argue your logic but I think I’m too tired,” Dan admits. 

“Sleep. We’ll probably be up super late tomorrow night. Everything I know about Stevie tells me she’s not going to pull any punches in the party-throwing department.”

“I don’t know if I’m excited or horrified,” Dan says. “Back to back parties are unprecedented for me, you know. Didn’t even do that in uni.”

“I did, but only because of peer pressure.” Then he has a thought. “Wait, am I pressuring you? You don’t have to come if you—”

Dan laughs, fond and exasperated. “No, you spoon. It’s fine. I want to go. I want to spend time with you.”

“Oh.” Phil smiles. “Well. Alright, then.”

“For now, we sleep. Tomorrow, we party.”

“Tomorrow we party,” Phil echoes. “Goodnight, Dan.”

“Night, Phil.”


	24. Chapter 24

*

*

Dan’s already back when Phil comes in from work. 

“Did you miss me, did you miss me?” Phil kicks his shoes off by the door then heads into the lounge. 

“Didn’t miss your bloody socks.” Dan throws one at his face, grinning from where he sits on the sofa. He must have already had his projectile ready and waiting. 

Phil catches it. “You missed me.” 

“Phil, we were basically talking the entire time I was gone,” Dan reminds him. He tilts his head back so he can watch as Phil walks across the room to his bedroom. “Also you’re a bad fucking influence and you have to make me lunch before we go to this party.” 

“Art show first,” Phil reminds him. He starts stripping off his paint-stained clothes - which describes half his wardrobe at this point - and changes into something more comfortable. “But not for a couple of hours. Want one of those pocket whatsits out of the freezer? The ones I like?” 

At a certain point he’d tried enough of Dan’s food that he started discovering things he didn’t actually mind. At a certain point after _that_ he started actually tempting Dan into buying convenience foods, all the processed unhealthy meat replacements Dan didn’t like until they were freshly cooked in front of him and smelling like a vegan childhood reboot. 

“Perfect,” Dan says. His feet are kicked up on the coffee table, laptop in his lap, and he looks cozy and comfortable. 

Phil looks in the freezer. “Pepperoni or ham and cheddar? There’s only one correct answer.” 

“Fine, I’ll do the ham and cheddar, you cheesephobe.” 

Phil starts the oven preheating and then sprawls across the other end of the sofa. “Are you working?”

“Yes.” 

“You should Mario Kart with me instead.” 

“It’s not a verb, you know.” Dan looks over at him. He’s trying to be cool and appraising but he just seems happy. 

They’re both just happy. Happy to see each other again. 

It’s also a bit of relief, maybe. They said things on the phone that Phil wasn’t sure would withstand the light of day. And yeah, maybe Dan’s not exactly waxing poetic about missing him while they’re sat on the sofa in their casual hanging out mode, but it’s not uncomfortable, either. Dan doesn’t look like he regrets anything. 

That’s enough for Phil right now. 

-

Phil tries not to overthink his outfit. Stevie told him it was casual, and if he spends too long looking at himself in the mirror he’s going to have a mini crisis like he did the day he met up with Ben. So he throws on a white button up with black patterned birds and wears the same old black jeans as always and calls it a day, not even bothering to check his hair out in the mirror.

It’s not about him, anyway. It’s about Stevie. Stevie’s art. 

He’s having a nibble of cereal from the box when Dan emerges from his bedroom looking nervous. And gorgeous. But a very Dan type of gorgeous, a black and white striped jumper that makes his shoulders look ridiculously broad. And a little hunched, but Phil appreciates that. It matches his own bad posture. 

In fact, they match today full stop. Black and white, too tall for their own comfort, smiling sheepishly at each other. Dan’s got the sleeves of his jumper rolled up and Phil can see his tattoo and it makes his stomach twist pleasantly. It makes him remember that day and the night that preceded it, the bed sharing and the confessions, the hand holding and the rainy London sidewalks, the thunder and the lightning and the cemented certainty that they mean more to each other than people who share the same space. 

“You look amazing,” Dan says. He doesn’t even couch it in a joke. 

Phil shoves the Shreddies back into the cupboard. “Speak for yourself.”

“Is it weird that I’m nervous?”

“No. I’m always nervous for stuff like this. But it helps that I don’t have to go alone.”

“I keep thinking someday I’ll outgrow this feeling of not belonging in spaces with serious people,” Dan says, leaning against the kitchen counter, fiddling with the hem of his jumper. 

“I honestly don’t think it’ll be fancy,” Phil says. He has to close his hand in a fist to keep from reaching out and touching Dan’s arm. “Stevie wouldn’t have left me to my own devices in the wardrobe department if it was going to be proper fancy. Besides, it’s not really her style. She just wants to show her friends her art, I reckon.” He smiles. “Besides, you look the part.”

“Oi, don’t mock the stripes.”

“I’m not! They’re very French.” Phil grins with his tongue caught between his teeth. “Just need a little mustache to go with it.” 

“Oh, that’s optimistic,” Dan says. “I’m twenty-eight and I think there’s some part of puberty that just took a nap when I was fourteen and didn’t wake up again.” 

“It got confused and made up for facial hair with extra height,” Phil says. 

“True for me, but what’s your excuse? I’ve seen what you look like before you shave in the morning. You could do a proper beard, _and_ you’ve got the extra inches.” Dan pauses. “Of height.” 

Phil snickers but lets it go. “Alright, then, monsieur. Let’s go.” 

-

The art show is just as casual as Phil had expected. Stevie’s one of half a dozen artists with their works on display but Phil thinks, maybe with a bit of bias, that hers are by far the most interesting pieces. 

He can hear her laugh before he sees her. She’s holding court with Théo a tall, calm figure beside her. He’s wearing a dark blazer and slacks, a dark silvery almost oil slick pattern running through both that only stands out when the light catches him. The pattern matches the dress she’s wearing, though where his is a subtle touch hers is something that catches the eye and doesn’t let go. Her skirt flutters as she pushes people aside for Phil, grabbing him and Dan both in a hug at once. 

“Mes choux!” She gives them both a kiss on their cheek that they have to bend down for. “Have you had wine yet?” 

Dan laughs. “Oh, we are classy, aren’t we?” 

She blows another kiss at him. “I celebrate all occasions in which people gather together to speak of my brilliance.” 

“You _are_ brilliant,” Dan agrees. “Picasso is shaking.” 

“He’s dead, so that is quite the feat,” she says. 

“I really liked Urban Desert.” 

She glows. “I was inspired by a holiday Théo and I took to the states a few years back.” 

“The desert was... très chaud. Trop chaud. Too hot. But if it brought her inspiration, it was worth it.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Forgive him. He must be kept at precisely twenty degrees and no hotter or he wilts.” 

“I am a delicate flower,” he agrees, without cracking a smile. 

“Phil can relate,” Dan says, elbowing him gently in the arm. 

“Oi.” Phil holds up his wrist. “I have a tattoo now, I’m hardcore.”

Stevie says, “I’m still so proud of you for that. You have to let me design your next one.”

“Next one,” Phil scoffs. “I barely survived the first. You didn’t tell me it felt like a million bees stinging you all at once.”

“I kind of of enjoyed it,” Dan offers.

“Masochist,” Phil stage whispers to Stevie.

“You can design mine, if Phil’s too scared,” Dan says. “I’ve broken the seal, now I want more.”

“Oh, me too,” she says. “The only problem is there are so many things I want. Too much art, too little skin.”

Théo touches her elbow gently, gesturing to a group of people stood in front of one of her paintings. “We should…”

“Yes, yes,” Stevie agrees, then looks at Phil. “You’re coming to the party after?”

“I am. We are. I hope you know the weight that carries for both of us as extreme introverts.”

She rolls her eyes. “Your sacrifice is noted.”

-

Phil stands next to Dan, cradling his chin in the classic thinking pose. And he’s not even being facetious. He’s thinking. Pondering. Ruminating. 

Admiring?

Dan is stood next to him in a similar state of quiet contemplation.

“Normally I’d say I don’t understand art,” Phil says. “I mean, I know when I see something that makes me feel something, but in general, I don’t get what makes some art bad and some art good.”

Dan nods thoughtfully. His arms are crossed over his chest. 

“But uhhh…. this.”

Dan nods again. “It’s something.”

“Something brilliant,” Phil corrects. 

They’re stood in front of a large painting of soft blue flowers. It’s called In Bloom, and from the center of each set of petals blooms… a penis.

Dan points to one in particular, painfully erect with a pronounced vein running up the underside of the shaft. “This one is interesting.”

“I appreciate the artist’s dedication to representing so much… diversity,” Phil says gravely, gesturing to a flaccid, uncut specimen that starkly contrasts the one Dan had pointed out.

Dan cracks a smirk. “I’m buying this for you.”

“Shut up,” Phil says, assuming it’s a joke. 

“I’m going to.”

Phil turns to him. “You’re freaking not.”

-

He does. 

Phil is fucking mortified. “I’m not hanging that in my bedroom!” 

Dan shrugs. “Fine. I think it’ll look great above the toilet, anyway. I haven’t had anything up there since that ironic One Direction posted I tacked up in 2014 came down.” 

Phil takes a brief moment to register how long Dan has actually lived in the flat before he remembers how mortified he actually is.

“Come on, Philly-pops.” Dan grins at him. “You can’t be shocked by the subject matter, and frankly I think the artistic work is masterful.” 

“Every person who comes over will see it! What if my mum visits!” 

“I think your mum has seen a flower before, Phil.” 

“Those aren’t flowers, those are—” His voice drops to a whisper. _“Willies_.”

“I think she’s seen one of those before, too. Plus it’ll be like, a learning experience? We can ask people who come over to pick their favorite and then judge the hell out of them.”

Phil has to cover his mouth to stop his laughter from being heard throughout the gallery. ”You’re _awful_.” 

Dan challenges him with a cocky tilt of his chin that Phil loves with a painful fierceness. “I’m amazing.” 

“You are,” Phil agrees, just to watch the cockiness melt into surprised warmth. “But also ridiculous. Stevie will be glad to know you’re supporting the arts, at least.” 

“Well, some art just demands to be appreciated.” Dan’s eyes linger on the painting, then turn and land on Phil.

-

The after party is both as casual as Phil promised and also full of very cool people with very unique taste in everything from clothing to hair colour to music. 

“This is much better than last night’s party,” Dan admits. 

“Maybe you’re in the wrong business. Maybe you need to write art reviews instead.” 

“No thanks,” Dan says. “For one thing, I don’t know shit about art. And for another, it feels way less personal to talk shit about a cinema release film than a piece of art that someone put their heart into. I can’t even go that hard when I’m reviewing indie movies that someone made with a budget of like a thousand pounds and youthful optimism made because I just end up thinking, okay, am I supposed to crush their spirits now?” 

Phil has possibly never wanted to kiss Dan more. Doesn’t even have to be on the lips. He’d settle for a nice smack right to Dan’s cheek. 

“What?” Dan asks. “What are you looking at me like that for?” 

Phil shrugs. “Nothing. Should we go find drinks?” 

“Yes, please,” Dan says. 

They do, and proceed to imbibe a great number of them as they wander around Stevie and Théo’s flat like little explorers. Phil is delighted to find a painting of a flower in the hallway that looks like a vagina. Dan informs him “it’s an O’Keefe, you uncultured swine” and Phil informs him back that he’s “a flaming homosexual and therefore not up to date on art that looks like lady parts, thank you very much” and Dan can’t inform him of anything after that because he’s laughing so hard that he leans forward into Phil’s space and puts his face on Phil’s shoulder. Phil can smell his cologne. He can feel the tickle of Dan’s hair against his cheek. 

He’s still reeling when Dan pulls away and continues walking down the hall.

It doesn’t come as much of a surprise that Stevie’s home is as warm and chaotic and inviting as her studio. Phil can’t even put his finger on why. He wishes he could. He’d like to be able to put some of it to practice in his own home - not that the flat he shares with Dan has been feeling anything less than inviting lately, but that’s got nothing to do with the decor and everything to do with the person sharing his space.

And sharing space they certainly are tonight. Dan keeps grabbing Phil’s hand and pulling him here and there, touching his arm when he wants to get his attention, as if Phil isn’t already hanging off of Dan’s every word. 

He’ll blame the fact that they wander into Stevie and Théo’s bedroom without shame on the alcohol, but really he reckons they’re both just insanely curious. It’s a nice room. Not big, because it’s London and only people who are proper wealthy could afford a flat that allowed for a sizable bedroom, but it’s well bigger than either Dan’s or Phil’s. 

The walls are painted a soft grey, apart from one that seems to be a giant blackboard. Phil’s never seen anything like it. There’s a bucket of chalk in the corner and the wall is decorated with drawings and poems and messages in French. Phil can only imagine what kind of endearments are written there. It makes his heart clench. Out of fondness for his friend, and happiness for her joy.

But also out of a sense of longing. Being in this room, with the keepsakes and belongings of lovers surrounding him, it’s all too easy for him to imagine having something similar someday. And Dan is stood right there, all stripes and curls and long neck and longer legs, bent over a dresser to inspect a black and white photo of Stevie and Théo in bed together. Phil comes to stand next to Dan to get a better look. It’s something they definitely shouldn’t be looking at, his boss and her partner with naked shoulders, Stevie’s face turned into Théo’s neck, Théo kissing the top of her head while managing to snap the picture. 

It makes Phil’s skin prickle, looking at this with Dan. Being here with Dan. Just… Dan.

“They’re really happy, yeah?” Dan murmurs. He sounds far away.

“I think so.” Phil straightens up, his eyes fixed on the little gold triangle stud in Dan’s ear. He’s no idea how he missed that. He has the errant thought that he’d like to bite it. “She talks about him like they are.”

“It’s nice.” Dan straightens up too, then turns his gaze to Phil.

“It is nice,” Phil agrees. He bumps his shoulder against Dan’s, because he isn’t sure the right thing to say that wouldn’t be too much, too fast. Dan bumps right back, and then stays there. He’s close enough that Phil can smell him again. “I like your cologne.” 

Dan smiles. His face looks a touch rosy. “Thanks.” 

Phil’s teeming with the urge to do something more. He just wants to be close to Dan… it doesn’t have to be romantic, it doesn’t have to be sexual. He just has a sudden bone deep craving for the feeling of Dan in his arms. 

He might have actually gone through - a hug, just a hug - if Stevie hadn’t popped her head into the open door frame. “I was looking for you two wanderers. Phil, I want you to meet Nicola - she used to work in the shop!” 

Stevie’s gaze is slightly glassy and her voice is just a bit too loud, well on her way to drunk if she’s not there yet. Phil’s glad - she’s celebrating the night properly, celebrating her accomplishments and having built a life she loves. He can’t help but vicariously celebrate that with her. 

“Oh no,” Phil says. “She can’t have her job back.” 

Stevie grins. “Perhaps I let you fight for the honor of employment for my amusement.” 

“Sadist,” Phil accuses.

“Dan and I are two sides of the same coin then, aren’t we? He likes pain and I like inflicting it.”

“Oi,” Dan says. “Don’t bring me into this.”

“What are you two doing in here?” Stevie asks, and Phil has to laugh a little at how belatedly she’s realizing that they’re definitely invading her privacy.

“Admiring your design choices?” Phil says.

“And photography skills.” Dan points to the photo they'd just been studying.

Stevie beams, walking into the room and picking up the frame to look at it. Her smile lingers as she traces her finger over the curve of Théo’s shoulder. “My man is sexy, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Phil says.

“Definitely.”

Stevie and Phil both turn to look at Dan, whose cheeks instantly go blotchy, but he doesn’t try to negate what he’d said, and Phil quickly turns back to Stevie and grabs her arm. “Okay, time to introduce me to my new nemesis.”

Dan says, “I’m gonna find the toilet.” 

Phil’s pretty sure that what Dan’s really after is a moment to himself. His stomachs tightens anxiously knowing Dan may feel embarrassed or exposed, but he can’t think of anything to say about it, especially in front of Stevie, so he just says, “Come find me after. Avenge my death if need be.”

Dan gives him a little two finger salute. “Will do.”

-

It takes Phil a few minutes to notice that Dan doesn’t actually come find him right after. He’s a bit wrapped up in conversation, because Nicola is nothing like he’d expected - she’s almost the antithesis of Stevie. Her hair is a brilliant, deep red and she’s wearing a full face of glam makeup with an outfit that looks like it came from a resale shop that he’d be too poor to even step foot inside. If he had an ounce of heterosexuality in him he’d probably be tripping over himself, but when she opens her mouth to speak he’s instantly at ease. 

“Has Stevie told you about the time I had someone come in and argue with me for half an hour about refusing to sell her yarn, then call me a cunt and leave?” 

“Wait, we sell yarn?” Phil asks. 

“No!” Nicola has tears of laughter in her eyes but somehow her mascara doesn’t budge. “But apparently we were listed on the internet as a craft store and by god this old biddy thought we should be selling all variety of craft, including her precious yarn.”

“She actually filed a complaint,” Stevie adds. “I wish I’d been in the shop when she came in so I could have told her to fuck off and stop harassing my worker. But then Nicola—” 

Nicola takes over. “The next day I came in with a bag of yarn.” 

“And she left it under the desk for an entire year!” 

“I just wanted to be prepared in case she came back.” Nicola flashes a wide smile. “To pretend we sold it all along and I didn’t know what she was talking about.” 

“I can’t believe an elderly woman called you a… _that_ ,” Phil says. “If it was me I reckon I would have cried. Or offered to go buy her some yarn or something ridiculous.”

Stevie reaches up to squeeze his shoulder. “Phil here is as soft as they come.”

“Actually, you know what?” Nicola says. “I never took it back, so it’s probably still there. So you’ll be prepared if any other crotchety old bitches come in dead set on demanding things that aren’t actually on the shelves.”

“I’m never going back,” Phil deadpans are Stevie. 

The three of them chat for a few more minutes before Nicola wanders off to go be social. Phil has the sneaking suspicion that Stevie would be doing the same thing if not for the way he’s kind of glued himself to her side. She knows he’s not great in a crowd (because he’s told her approximately a thousand times) and she’s a good friend.

But Phil still feels awkward about it. “Where did Dan go?” he mutters, half to himself. His eyes scan Stevie’s lounge, but he can’t find him.

Then Stevie elbows him gently in the side. “Look!” she hisses excitedly, pointing all the way to the other side of the room. Dan and Théo are sat close together on a sofa, heads bowed in what looks like intimate conversation. 

Stevie is grinning. “Mon dieu, Phil. Our boys are bonding.”

Almost like he’s got a sixth sense for people talking about him, Dan looks up and meets Phil’s eyes, his face lighting up with a giant smile. He gives Phil a little wave, and any thought Phil might have had to feel jealous dissipates in an instant.

“He’s not my boy,” Phil says, but his voice is dreamy.

“Oh shut up.” Stevie crosses her arms. “You see the way he looks at you just the same as I do. Don’t be stupid.”

For the first time ever, Phil can’t bring himself to argue. The most he can muster is to say, “Maybe,” while he smiles back at Dan.

Then he turns to Stevie. “Christ. I like him so much.”

Stevie snakes her arm around his lower back and pulls him into a side hug. “I know, mon chou. I know.”

-

By around ten pm the party itself has wound down to a handful of people that all gather in Stevie’s lounge. There are fairy lights twinkling and Stevie keeps ordering Théo to make sure everyone’s drinks are filled and Phil is starting to genuinely feel it. 

At one point he gets up from his seat to go to the toilet and upon his return finds it occupied by one of Stevie’s friends. He has a brief flurry of anxiety - there aren’t really enough seats for the number of people around, some have been on the floor, others on laps. They circulate between getting drinks and going outside for a smoke and so Phil doesn’t really think he can say anything, but he doesn’t really want to sit on the floor and what does he do—

He looks to Dan and finds Dan just smirking at him. Dan’s clearly a bit drunk too and tilts his head to the side, then shuffles over and pats the spot beside him. It’s an oversized seat but they’re both oversized people, so he frowns dubiously. 

Dan jerks his chin again and the alcohol answers for him with a decided fuck it. He squeezes in by Dan, and they’re definitely glued together shoulder to hip to thigh. He reaches up to unbutton another button of his shirt, because he suddenly feels hot all over. 

“This okay?” Dan asks. 

Phil turns and Dan’s face is just so much closer to his own than he’d expected. He swallows and tries not to think about how Dan just glanced at his lips. 

“Yeah,” he says. “This is fine. This is good.” 

Théo says something to Dan - something Phil doesn’t catch - and Dan turns to answer him. Phil squirms again, a mixture of nervous and restless and also slightly ecstatic. 

He gets pulled into the conversation too, because they’re discussing film trivia and Dan’s list of things he hasn’t seen from the 90s. With his mind occupied by adding movies to the list he barely realizes when Dan’s shifted to get a little more comfortable and dropped his arm right around Phil’s shoulder. 

He feels the warmth of it like a brand across the back of his neck. It’s like burning, but in the most delicious way, a way he could happily do for the rest of his life. Every nerve ending in his body is lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. He thinks he continues to contribute to the conversation, but he really can’t be sure. All he has room for in his brain is the weight of Dan’s arm and the fact that Dan is rubbing little circles into Phil’s shoulder with his thumb.

That can’t be an accident. Phil refuses to convince himself that it’s an accident, or even that it’s simply the act of someone made loose by alcohol. He knows that’s part of it, but he doesn’t believe that’s the only part. He’s pretty fucking certain that it means something, and that’s why he can’t think about anything else. Except how badly he wants to turn his head and catch Dan’s mouth with his. 

What he does instead is tip his head back a little so it rests on Dan’s arm. He wants to be a participant in what’s happening here. He wants Dan to know that he likes it.

-

It’s Stevie who refills the drinks again. “Cozy, boys?” she asks, grinning wildly at them. 

Phil would be more embarrassed if he weren’t mildly drunk, and didn’t also know that she’s drunk now that all the people she cares to impress have scattered to the winds. 

“Very,” Dan asks. “I mean, Phil’s a bit bony, but besides that.” 

“Hey!” Phil pouts. “I’m not bony.” 

“You’re all sticks and bones,” Stevie says. 

“You know what they say,” Phil says. “Sticks and stones… will always take the throne.” 

“That’s literally not what they say,” Dan says. “No one says that. That’s not a thing.” 

Stevie sits on the arm of the chair because between the laughter and the drinks she seems to be finding difficulty with maintaining an upright position. She ends up putting her arm around Phil, resting it atop Dan’s. Phil is sandwiched between the two of them and it’s really not the worst place he’s ever been. He leans his head to the side and rests his cheek against her chest. “You’re soft.” 

“Hey.” Dan sulks and nudges Phil. “I’m soft, too.” 

Stevie snorts. “I’m afraid you cannot compete in this area, darling. But don’t worry, my ample bosom has provided a comfortable pillow for many an inebriated gay man in my life.” 

“I mean, he doesn’t _know_ I’m not just as comfortable until he’s tried.” 

Stevie pushes Phil away from her and toward Dan. “Go on, then. He wants a cuddle.” She says something else after it in French that Phil can’t quite make out because Dan is pulling him in to rest his head on Dan’s shoulder. 

Dan’s definitely not as soft as Stevie was, but he’s warm and his cheek is pressed against Phil’s forehead and Phil never wants to move. 

And he doesn’t, not until there’s a soft voice close to his face murmuring, “Hey, Phil. We have to go.”

Phil blinks sleepily, dazed and heavy-headed. His weight is leaned fully into Dan’s side and Dan’s arm is still draped across his shoulders. It’s quiet in Stevie’s lounge, and the lights are dimmed.

“I fell asleep?” Phil asks.

“You did.” Dan’s voice is full of warmth. Phil reckons if he titled his head just so, Dan would close the distance. 

Maybe that’s just the grogginess talking. “How long?”

“‘Bout an hour,” Dan says. “But don’t worry. Stevie fell asleep not long after. Théo carried her to bed. It was kind of hilarious.”

“She alright?” He hasn’t lifted his head from where it’s resting in the crook of Dan’s neck.

“She’s fine. Théo checked on her at least twice.”

“You should have woken me earlier,” Phil says, finally giving in to reality and sitting up to give Dan back his bubble of personal space.

“Nah, s’alright. I was having a nice chat with Nicola.”

“Oh yeah? She’s funny.”

“Yeah,” Dan says, stretching his arms above his head and arching his back. His shoulder must be hurting like hell. “Did you know she’s a lesbian?”

“I did not.” He feels suddenly much more alert. “That’s cool.”

“It is. She is. And so is Théo.” He smiles. “You’ve got really cool friends, Phil. I’ve never been sad for a party to end before.”

Phil yawns. “Don’t be sad, Danny. You still get to go home with me, after all.”

Phil’s breath catches when Dan’s hand rests low on his back, a spot of extra warmth for his already flushed and sleep-warm body. 

“Guess that is the best part,” Dan says, his voice as soft and nice as the touch. 

-

They take an Uber back to their flat because Phil can’t be arsed with the tube when they’re both still drunk. He almost falls asleep in the back seat, and might have done if not for Dan’s steady stream of conversation. He’s talking a lot - he does that, it’s a habit Phil’s familiar with. He tells Phil all about his conversation with Théo and Nicola and something about holidays in France. The details get swimmy in Phil’s head but he doesn’t want Dan’s voice to ever stop. 

They’re both yawning by the time they’re upstairs and toeing off their shoes. “I’m going to sleep for a year,” Phil informs Dan. 

“No work tomorrow?” 

Phil shakes his head. “Stevie closed the shop. Said she knows what hangovers in her thirties are like and she wasn’t going to do that to either of us.” 

Dan chucks. “Old.” 

“Oi.” Phil pokes Dan in the side. He’s somehow both not expecting it and also not surprised when Dan grabs his hand, tugging him in and squeezing tight. 

They don’t hug, don’t actually touch anywhere but their hands, but it’s still an intimate kind of closeness. “Thank you for taking me along tonight,” Dan says. 

“Thank you for coming along.” Phil swallows hard against all the urges he has. 

Dan’s eyes search and search his and his mouth curves into the softest smile. “Goodnight, Philly. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

Phil’s brain takes a few seconds to catch up, and he says, “Goodnight, Dan,” just as Dan lets go of his hand. 

Once he’s in his own room he haphazardly strips off his clothes and falls face first against his pillow, smiling into an instant sleep.


	25. Chapter 25

*

*

Phil is hungover as hell the next morning. He wakes with a churning in his gut and a desperate need to blot out the sun that’s trying to stab into his eyes every time he tries to open them even the tiniest bit. Every time he moves his head a headache makes itself known, just compounding all the other badness swirling in his bones. 

He groans into his pillow, just wanting some sort of divine intervention. More sleep would be good - enough sleep that he wakes up after his whole system has had a reset. A week. Maybe two, just to be on the safe side. 

He hears a soft pounding and the act of lifting his head up almost makes him lose the battle with his stomach. 

“Hangover delivery service,” Dan calls out. His voice is raspy and he doesn’t sound quite as unscathed as he did after their first experience drinking together. “I’ve got paracetamol and water.” 

“Coffee?” Phil calls back weakly. 

“Water,” Dan repeats, and pushes the door open. 

Then he just - stands there. Blinking. Staring. 

And Phil remembers belatedly that he’d passed out on top of his duvet wearing only his pants. 

He buries his face in his pillow again, this time out of embarrassment. 

Except - should he be embarrassed? Memories of the night before filter in bit by bit. Sitting beside Dan. Dan’s arm around him. Falling asleep on Dan. 

He stays face down because a bit of ass on display is one thing, he doesn’t need his cock to get any ideas (even if it were physically possible given how absolutely shit he feels) but decides to leave this ball in Dan’s court. “Thanks,” he mumbles. 

“Right,” Dan says.

And then he’s gone, the door shutting rather heavily behind him. 

Fuck.

Phil sits up to take the tablets and drink the water because he really does need them, but when he lays himself back down, the queasiness he feels has nothing to do with the multitude of alcohol he consumed last night. He shouldn’t have done that, obviously. It hadn’t really been intentional, but he could have at least apologized. Dan never consented to viewing 90% of Phil’s unclothed body, and apparently it really wasn’t something he wanted to see.

Phil’s guts are leaden. It’s possible he just ruined everything. It’s possible he just yanked Dan’s safe space right out from under him, and it makes Phil want to weep. It makes him sick. 

It literally makes him sick. He grabs a damp towel from where he’d left it after his last shower and wraps it around his shoulders, running to the toilet and making it just in time to empty the contents of his stomach. Afterwards he just sits there on the cold floor, cheek pressed against the seat of the porcelain throne. Everything hurts. Everything feels dramatic and awful, so he doesn’t stop the tears when they come. 

Then he gets in the shower. It makes him feel marginally more human, as does the vigorous brushing he gives his teeth once he’s stood under the shower’s spray so long that the water runs cold. His mouth tastes pleasantly of mint by the time he hunts down some more paracetamol.

Then he fishes his phone out of the jeans he wore last night and climbs back into bed. He can feel his hair soaking moisture into the pillow, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t bother getting dressed, but at least he tucks himself under the duvet this time.

His hands tremble slightly as he pulls up his messages with Dan. The last one is a picture Dan took of Phil holding his new penis flower painting. Phil’s face is red and sheepish and he can remember perfectly the way Dan cackled as he took the photo. 

It hasn’t all been in Phil’s head, this slowly building thing between them. It hasn’t. Dan storming out this morning doesn’t erase the hand holding and the bed sharing and the tattoos and the hours upon hours of traded secrets and emotional vulnerability. It just means Phil was inadvertently callous with something that is clearly hard for Dan, and it means he needs to apologize. Even if it embarrasses him. Even if it’s going to leave a bruise on his ego.

He thinks maybe he should knock on Dan’s door and do it face to face, but there are limits to his bravery. And besides, Dan may not want to see Phil right now. In fact, he probably definitely doesn’t. A text message isn’t a cop out, he reasons with himself. It’s a kindness. 

He writes and deletes three separate paragraphs, but each time he knows he’s just trying to make himself feel less guilty, so what he ends up sending is short and sweet: _I’m really sorry_.

He doesn’t get a reply in the five minutes he stares at his phone waiting, so he shoves it under his pillow and goes back to sleep. 

-

Being ghosted by someone he lives with is a new height of humiliation for Phil, but luckily the hangover is still blotting out the inevitable panic and despair. It’s there, under the surface, but it can’t rise through the muck of sixteen hour old alcohol. 

At least he’s clean. He feels at least fifty seven percent less like something stuck to the bottom of someone’s foot when he gets out of bed the second time. His stomach is churning uneasily but he still recognizes that he needs food and he’s craving something salty and buttery. 

He doesn’t even humour the idea of leaving the flat to go find a proper fry up somewhere. Instead he settles for fried eggs and toast. As soon as he’s wrapped in a blanket on the sofa with his breakfast plate balanced on the arm of it, he realizes that not leaving was the best possible option he could have chosen. 

He checks his phone for the fiftieth time between bites, staring at Dan’s name on the screen and willing a reply to appear. 

Then he hears the door to Dan’s bedroom opening and his head jerks up. 

Dan looks - like Dan. Like Dan always does. He’s dressed in black sweatpants and a black and white striped shirt and he has that mildly exhausted look Dan usually carries about him. Phil’s heart clenches at the sight of him and then his stomach follows in a more anxious manner. “Thanks for the water and the tablets earlier,” Phil says, giving in to the fear that if he doesn’t engage Dan in some way that Dan might just step back into his room and shut the door again. 

“No problem,” Dan says. “I could smell you cooked.” 

“It’s eggs,” Phil says. Then - a tiny smile. “Chicken periods.” 

Dan matches it with the tiniest of smiles of his own, gone so fast Phil immediately doubts if he even saw it to begin with. “Yeah.” 

“I would have made you some but I wasn’t sure… I mean, vegan…” 

“Yeah, I’m back on it.” Dan reaches up and fidgets with his hair. “Anyway. Gonna get some cereal.” 

It’s all so painfully awkward. “Sure,” Phil says. 

Dan doesn’t join Phil on the sofa as he normally would. Phil can hear him crunching cereal - must not have bothered with milk, then - but he stays in the kitchen. Phil can’t manage more than a single bite of egg. He feels like he’ll never be hungry again.

Dan reappears in the lounge about five minutes later, but instead of sitting next to Phil, he heads for the front door and jams his feet into his shoes. Not the trainers he wears on his runs, but the all black Vans. Phil’s not sure why that feels worse.

He’s afraid Dan’s going to leave without saying anything. The door creaks as it opens, and then, Dan deigns to grace Phil with a goodbye. “See you,” he says, his tone flat, and Phil can’t help himself freaking out a little.

“Where’re you going?”

“Out.”

It feels like a slap to the face.

“Right,” Phil says. He hasn’t worked out what to say next before the door closes and Dan is gone.

-

Outside feels better. Marginally. Phil had only sat on the sofa another five minutes before deciding he didn’t want to spend the day crying to an empty flat.

It’s a wet day. The rain is barely a drizzle, but the pavement is wet and reflective and the sky is grey and it’s a perfect match for the storminess inside Phil’s head. He stops into the first coffee shop he comes across and gets a regular brewed coffee with milk and two sugars. Nothing fancy, nothing fun. He just wants some caffeine and something warm to wrap his hands around as he explores a wet London afternoon. 

He finds himself wishing Stevie hadn’t kept the shop closed today. He could use the calming energy of Atelier right about now: the smell of paint, the chaotic splashes of colour everywhere, art on every wall. He thinks about ringing Stevie for a chat, but the last time he’d seen her she’d been giving him knowing smiles and pushing his head onto Dan’s shoulder, and that… that hurts to think about.

Dan never did respond to Phil’s text. Probably wouldn’t do to send another one, though that’s what Phil is aching to do. Maybe if he blubbers long enough, Dan will forgive him.

Is that the right word, forgive? The problem is that Phil doesn’t know. He can’t know until Dan talks to him.

God. What if Dan never talks to him. What if this was the end, and they go back to being two blokes who pay rent on the same flat and store their groceries in the same fridge and that’s it? 

Phil can’t do that. He wouldn’t survive it. He’d have to find a new place. Maybe he’d say fuck it and pack his shit up and go to Florida. Maybe he’d move back to Manchester with Ian and Lauren and be the live-in babysitter. He and Emily could have tea parties and eat free chips and role play as Sansa and The Hound, or whatever bloody weird age inappropriate thing she’d got obsessed with that week. 

He rings Ian, but of course, Ian doesn’t pick up. It’s the middle of the afternoon. He’s at work. He’s got a job. He’s got a life that doesn’t revolve around talking Phil down from crises of his own making. 

-

Phil goes home when his trainers are soaked through, kicking them off a little harder than he needs to and taking a small bit of satisfaction in the way they leave a wet mark where they bang against the wall. He peels his socks off and leaves them in the middle of the floor in the kitchen. He eats exactly four handfuls of dry Crunchy Nut, then washes it down with some of Dan’s oat milk, straight from the carton. 

Dan still isn’t home. The spot he keeps his shoes remains vacant, and the little burst of self pitying anger Phil had felt a moment ago vanishes as quickly as it had appeared. He wanders back into the lounge and nearly weeps when he sees his dick art leaned up against the wall in the corner. Had it really only been last night that Dan was pushing it into his hands with a face splitting grin on his lips? It feels like a lifetime ago. 

But it’s there, in all its soft blue phallic glory, and no one can take it away from him. He picks it up and carries it to his room. These cocks don’t belong in the bathroom. They deserve more than that.

-

Phil stands on his bed admiring his handiwork. His wonky, very much tilted handiwork. He’s rather proud of it, and of how he managed not to bring the hammer down on his own thumb - not more than once anyway, and it wasn’t a hard hit. Barely even hurts now.

And he’s got pretty penises to guard him while he sleeps. 

-

He’s sat on the sofa in the dark watching a documentary about whales when the front door opens. His heart leaps up into his throat, but he doesn’t say anything. 

And neither does Dan. But he does sit in his usual spot next to Phil. He tucks his legs up under himself and melts into the cushions, letting out a long, deep breath. 

“Hi,” Phil says, testing the waters after the silence becomes too much. 

“Hi,” Dan says back. 

“Are you…” The words dry up. He searches, finds one to finish with. “Okay?” 

Dan shrugs. “Am I ever?” 

“I think sometimes,” Phil says. 

Dan snorts. It’s not a nice sound. Not a friendly one. “Sure, mate.” 

Phil shrinks back a bit. “Sorry.” 

Dan does look over at him then. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.” 

Those are the words Phil wanted to hear but he’s not sure that Dan’s voice or demeanor when saying them really puts his worries to very much rest. “Okay.” 

“No, listen.” Dan’s lips are a flat line. “I’m just fucked up, okay. There are just a lot of things about me that are fucked up.” 

“You’re not fucked up,” Phil says automatically.

“You don’t know that.” Again, his tone doesn’t leave Phil feeling any kind of confident that he isn’t just making things worse.

But he doesn’t care. “Yes I do.”

Dan looks at him. “You don’t. There’s loads of shit I haven’t told you.”

“Whatever it is, it doesn’t make you just fucked up. You wouldn’t say that about me. You wouldn’t say I’m just fucked up because my dad died and I can’t get over it the way my mum and brother seem to have done.”

The line of Dan’s mouth makes a tighter line. “That’s different.”

“Why?”

Dan doesn’t answer. He doesn’t look relaxed anymore. His posture is stiff.

Phil can’t look at him. So he looks at the tv. “Sorry. I won’t… I’ll leave you alone from now on.”

He can still see Dan in his periphery. He can see him pinching the bridge of his nose. “God, Phil. Please, just— Please don’t fucking apologize.”

“Then what do you want me to do?” Phil’s voice is raised ever so slightly. He’s not angry, just upset. He has a feeling like this is about to be the first proper fight they’ve ever gotten into and that absolutely terrifies him. 

Fighting with people has always done so. But with Dan? It’s a million times worse. 

“I don’t fucking know!” Dan groans and rubs his hands over his face this time, digging his palms into his eye sockets and letting out an actual growl. “I don’t fucking know anything except that everything feels fucking _shit_. I didn’t ask to be like this. I didn’t ask to be born this way.” 

“What feels so shit?” Phil asks, heart suddenly pounding for reasons that are a little different and also a little the same. Fear, anxiety, just slightly different flavours of it. 

Dan takes in a ragged breath. “All fucked up. And don’t say I’m not. I am. I can’t even do the normal basic human functions that other people do without throwing myself into a goddamn panic attack that leads to a spiral of self hate and shame that I feel like I’ll never recover from.” 

“What are you ashamed of?” Phil asks, voice dropping to a softer note. 

“Too much. Everything.” Dan’s shoulders hunch up like he’s trying to hide in himself. 

Phil couldn’t stop himself if he wanted to. He reaches out to touch one of those shoulders. Dan flinches, but Phil just squeezes. “I don’t know the right thing to say,” Phil says as gently as he can. “But I know that you don’t have to be ashamed.”

“How?” Dan asks. “How do you know?”

“Have you hurt someone?” Phil asks. 

Dan shakes his head.

“That’s how I know. You’re a good person. You’re like… the best person, Dan.”

Dan bites his lip.

“I lived in shame for a lot of years,” Phil offers. “I understand that feeling.”

“How did you get out of it?” Dan asks. His voice is shaky, like he could break down at any moment. 

“It wasn’t easy,” Phil says. “But I think I did because I had friends I learned I could trust with who I really was. I think the shame I felt was like I’d be disappointing people just by being myself, in the ways I couldn’t change. I - I did try to change them. I tried to be someone else. I just… couldn’t. Because it doesn’t work like that. We are who we are, even when we try to run away from it.” 

“I don’t even know who I am half the time,” Dan says. “I think I’m a different person in front of everyone I know. So how do I know who the real one is? Is the real one that guy that goes to lunch with his grandma every few months even though I hate being back in Wokingham? Is the real one the teenager that shouted at his dad until he basically got kicked out of the house? Is the real one the one that goes to screenings and premieres and writes articles online? Or makes shit jokes on social media? I’ve got like, thirty thousand followers on twitter because people enjoy my reviews and want to know my opinion on things. Do they actually know me, though? How do I even know which one is real?” 

“Dan— Dan.” Phil puts his hand on Dan’s arm before he can even think about it. “Calm down. Take a breath.” 

Dan does as Phil says, drawing a long breath in, then out. “I fucking hate being inside my own head.” 

Phil cups the back of Dan’s head and then lets his hand drop to the nape of Dan’s neck instead. “They’re all bits of you. None of them are not real. But I think the most real you is the one you’re comfortable being when you feel the most safe.”

“What if that scares me too?” Dan asks. “Because where I feel most safe is exactly the thing that is fucking me up.” 

Phil’s heart slams into his chest. He doesn’t _know_ that Dan is talking about him, but he doesn’t think it’s an unreasonable assumption. Not after this morning.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Phil.” Dan’s chin quivers. “Please don’t fucking say that anymore, okay? Please.”

Phil’s still holding the back of Dan’s neck. He lets go, shuffling down the sofa to move away from him a little.

Dan reaches out and grabs him around the arm. Hard. “Don’t.”

“I only want to be the safety,” Phil says. 

“I’m just—” Dan lets go of Phil’s arm and buries his face in his hands. He breathes a few rapid, ragged breaths, and Phil’s sure he’s going to lose his composure.

But then he doesn’t. He takes deep breaths in and out until he drops his hands and tilts his head back to look up at the ceiling. He presses a palm to his chest and takes one more deep shuddering breath. “I’m just freaking out a little. Because I drank too much last night and haven’t been sleeping properly and cancelled my last few therapy appointments. And…” He trails off, finally turning his head to look at Phil.

He doesn’t need to say it. Phil gets it. He understands the and.

“I don’t care about anything but you trusting me,” Phil says.

“I do.”

“I drank too much last night too. That’s why I was so out of it this morning, I didn’t even think—”

“Phil.”

“I didn’t do that on purpose. I wouldn’t—”

“Phil. I know.” Dan runs a hand through his hair harshly. “This is me saying I know I’m being, like, wildly dramatic about everything. I just… there’s this… this fucking hatred of myself that’s been ingrained since I was five years old and I’m trying hard to shake it and most of the time I can deal with it but… sometimes I can’t. And today I think I can’t.”

Phil just nods. He doesn’t reckon he has anything helpful left to say. He just kind of wants to throw himself at Dan and hold him and kiss away every bad thought. He wants to cover him with his adoration and hope it’ll be enough to drown out the darkness, but he knows that’s not how any of this works. 

Dan’s still holding Phil’s arm. His grip is tight enough that it hurts, and Phil knows there’ll be a bruise in the morning. He covers Dan’s hand with his and Dan eases up, pulling back into his own space. “Please don’t go anywhere? I’m sorry I fucked of all day. I was trying to spare you this shit. I thought I could fall apart on my own and not upset you with it.”

“I was upset from the moment you walked out of my room,” Phil says quietly.

Dan nods. “Yeah. It’s… I just have to run sometimes. It’s just how I am.”

“Okay,” Phil says, though it doesn’t fucking feel okay at all.

“Can we watch Buffy?”

“Of course.” Phil gets up and puts the DVD in. “You hungry?”

Dan shakes his head. His arms are wrapped around himself, and despite his considerable size, he looks fragile. Small. 

“Can I make you a cuppa?” Phil asks. 

Dan looks up at him, surprised. Then he actually laughs. “Yeah, alright. Make me a cuppa, please.” He shakes his head fondly, and Phil can tell even from where he is that Dan’s eyes are a little wetter than they usually are. 

He makes tea and carries out two giant mugs, careful not to spill. Dan accepts his with a tired smile and lifts it to his face without taking a sip. Phil does the same, letting the warmth of the steam fog his glasses before he presses play on the show.

They’re only about fifteen minutes in when Dan asks, completely out of nowhere, “How old were you when you first had sex?”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to diffuse the awkwardness he is immediately gripped by with a joke, some sort of teasing banter about boundaries, but he bites it right the fuck back. There’s no way it’s an idle curiosity. Not right now, not with Dan in the state he is.

“Twenty one,” Phil says.

“Was that with Ben?”

“Yeah.”

“How was it?”

“Bit awkward,” Phil admits. “Neither of us knew what the hell we were doing but we were both too stupid to admit it.”

“Was it, like, full on…?”

“No.” Phil’s cheeks are hot. He and Dan don’t talk about this stuff. He doesn’t like to let himself think about sex and Dan at the same time. “Just hands, and… mouth stuff.”

Dan nods. He’s staring very resolutely at the telly. “You never slept with a girl?”

“Never.”

“So you always knew you were gay?”

“Uh… Let's say, I knew from the time I could feel attraction that I felt it towards guys. I don’t think I knew I was _gay_ til I got a girlfriend at sixteen and kissing her felt like doing homework.”

Dan smiles.

“Didn’t stop me trying, though,” Phil continues. “I thought if I just wanted to like it with enough conviction that eventually I’d get the hang of it.”

“Guessing that didn’t work?” Dan asks. 

“Not even a tiny little bit. I actually had _two_ girlfriends, for a week each. The first one broke up with me and the second one left me for another guy. She said she forgot we were dating.” 

“Ouch.” 

“Not really,” Phil says, easily. “The guy she dumped me for ended up being my best mate, Ian.” 

“You’ve mentioned him,” Dan says. “He’s the one with the little girl? Sansa?” 

Phil grins. Of course Dan remembers that. “Yeah, that’s him.” 

“Did he think anything was weird when you didn’t care at all that he stole your girlfriend?” 

Phil shrugs. “I dunno. I’ve never asked him.” 

“What about at university?” Dan asks. “Was it always just Ben?” 

“Ben and I didn’t get together until halfway through uni,” Phil says. “I was way too awkward to date. And I was just sort of… learning how to live my life being out, you know? I think that was enough for me for a while.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“When I first got to uni I tried to be really… straight. I told everyone I’d had loads of sex with girls and I guess they all believed me, or they knew I was lying and didn’t really care enough to argue me on it. I just wanted to impress them and I thought if I came right out as the gay guy in the accomodations it would be a death sentence for my social life. But then after a few months I got drunk one night and just told them all I fancied men and they were fine with it! I mean, there was one guy that got a bit weird when we were alone together, still don’t know if he was homophobic or afraid I had a crush on him or what.” 

“Did you? Have a crush on him?” 

“Nah,” Phil says. “Not that I didn’t have plenty of crushes, but definitely not on him. He walked around smelling like he doused himself in an entire can of Lynx and Eminem was the only musician he listened to.”

“Okay, strike that,” Dan says. “So you didn’t like… have experiences with guys at uni?” 

Phil shrugs. “I kissed a couple. Mostly drunk. But then I had Ben and we were… you know. It felt natural, with him. He was someone I liked and I felt comfortable with—” 

“Safe,” Dan mutters, almost under his breath. 

“Yeah, I guess that’s it. I felt safe with him. So even though both of us were pretty new to the whole doing sexy gay stuff - it was still fun and exciting.” 

“I had a girlfriend when I was a teenager,” Dan says. “I was terrified to do anything with her. She ended up breaking up with me because I kept ignoring her calls and texts. I really did love her - she was really sweet and funny and anyone would be stupid not to want to be with her. But I’d just freeze up every time we were alone together. She probably didn’t know what the fuck was wrong with me. I didn’t know what the fuck was wrong with me.” 

“I think if I’d tried to have sex with someone when I was sixteen I’d have done the same,” Phil says. “You can’t - I couldn’t - really comprehend what being with someone like that would mean at that age. I think it’s just different for different people. It’s not even about age at all, really, it’s just where you’re at in your own head.” 

“That’s what I'm afraid of. My head is an asshole.”

Phil doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just reaches out and squeezes Dan’s knee. Then he realizes he probably shouldn’t do things like that anymore and yanks his hand back. 

“Do you wank a lot?” Dan asks.

This time it’s almost impossible for Phil not to deflect with humour. 

“Not really. I used to. I’m old, remember?”

Dan smirks, but only for a moment. “That’s not the reason, is it.” He doesn’t phrase it as a question.

“No,” Phil confirms. His pulse is absolutely racing. He doesn’t want to lie to Dan tonight, but he’s not sure he can face admitting that he’s been functionally celibate even with himself because he’s been trying to stave off the agony of his crush. 

“Do you ever feel guilty?” Dan’s voice has gone very quiet. “For what you think about?”

“Yeah. I do. But not in the way I think you mean.”

Dan nods.

“You don’t have to feel guilty,” Phil tells him. “You’re not hurting anyone.”

Dan doesn’t say anything. 

“Dan.”

He looks up.

“There’s nothing wrong with it.” His hand seeks out Dan’s. He can’t help it. When he finds it, Dan squeezes back. “You know that, right?”

Dan looks down at his lap. “I want to know it.”

“Do you want to ask me more super personal questions? Would that help? And I promise to be a hundred percent honest?”

Dan laughs. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be—”

“I know.”

A bit of tension releases from Dan’s shoulders. “Honestly? Yeah. I kind of do.”

“Go on then. I’m an open book.”

“Did you feel ashamed the first time you had sex? Full on.”

“Yeah. A bit.”

“Did you like it though?”

Phil has to think for a moment. “I think not really the first time. I was bottoming and it hurt a bit.”

“Fuck.”

“Once we figured things out, I liked it,” Phil says. He remembers the first time he came with Ben inside him. He cried afterwards, like everything in his life finally made sense. “It was affirming.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Definitely. I mean all the stuff that came before it was too. Even just the kissing. But every new step was like another level of feeling… I don’t know… settled? In that identity I’d fought so hard not to accept.”

“I can’t imagine that,” Dan admits. “I’ve spent my whole life feeling like who I am is wrong. I can’t imagine feeling any other way. I feel like as an adult the only coping mechanism I’ve learned is just convincing everyone that I’m not nearly as fucked up as I really am, until someone actually gets to know me and they see and then they run screaming away like any sane person would.” 

“It’s not easy,” Phil says. “It takes time. But it’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay, Dan. And I’m not going anywhere. It takes a lot more than that to make me run screaming.” 

“It’s because of all the concussions, right?” Dan looks over at him and he’s trying to make a joke but Phil can see all of the naked vulnerability in his face. Maybe that’s the point when his crush tips over into something more precious and a whole lot stronger. “Brain damage.” 

“Nah,” Phil says. “It’s just you.” 

“Fuck.” Dan’s breath hitches. “Phil.” 

“Can I hug you?” Phil asks, because every part of him just wants to wrap Dan up right now. 

Dan nods jerkily and then they’re turning sideways, bodies too-long and awkwardly positioned, but it doesn’t matter. Dan buries his face in Phil’s shoulder and it doesn’t matter at all, nothing matters except holding Dan so tightly that Dan knows he’s safe and grounded right here. 

It must work. Dan holds back just as tightly. He’s probably crying, Phil thinks, and maybe Phil’s fighting back tears too. 

He loses the battle when Dan says, “You don’t need to feel guilty either.” 

Phil’s hands pause where they’d been rubbing up and down Dan’s back. “What?” 

“You don’t need to feel guilty,” Dan repeats. His voice is muffled against Phil's shirt. “There’s nothing wrong with it. You aren’t hurting anyone, either.” 

That finicky, anxious part of Phl’s mind wants to protect himself by pretending that Dan doesn’t know exactly what he’s saying. 

But if Phil wants Dan to trust him, maybe he needs to trust Dan, too. 

He whispers, “Okay,” against the side of Dan’s head and holds on tighter. “Thank you.”


	26. Chapter 26

*

*

“Fuck. Fuck fuck wank fuck.” Dan comes barrelling out of his room with a hand fisted in his hair and an aura of stress absolutely wafting from his every pore.

“What?”

Phil is on the sofa attempting to fold the clean laundry that’s been sat in the dryer for three days collecting wrinkles. Steven Universe plays on the telly in the background, but Phil reaches for the remote to mute it so Dan’s freak out can have his full attention.

“One of the publications I freelance for is sending a reviewer out to this film festival in the park thing and I guess the guy they were gonna send is in hospital for an emergency appendectomy and they’ve asked me to take his place. I can't really say no. It’s gonna pay a fuckload.”

“Why would you say no?” Phil asks, genuinely bewildered. “That sounds brilliant.”

Dan collapses into the spot next to Phil, knocking a stack of folded shirts onto the floor. He doesn’t seem to take any notice. “I don’t do festivals.”

“Um.” Phil picks up a stack of folded jeans and places it on the coffee table where Dan won’t be able to undo his efforts. “Can I ask why?”

Dan tips his head back and looks up at the ceiling. He’s wearing a fuzzy black jumper and black boxers and nothing else. If it was the first time he’d been sat trouserless next to Phil, Phil would certainly be less coherent than he is, but in the past week it’s become the norm. Dan keeps showing up with bare legs and Phil hasn’t mentioned it. 

Neither of them have mentioned it. They don’t need to. Dan’s testing boundaries and exerting little acts of quiet bravery and Phil is holding space for him to do that without making his own feelings about it an obstacle. He’s been careful not to expose his own body again, but Dan has seemed like a different person since that morning they both woke up hungover and unprepared for the emotional ups and downs the day would subject them to. He’s seemed steady. Even keeled.

“It reminds of Reading,” Dan says. “I used to go when I was a teenager and there are a lot of bad memories attached.”

Phil reaches out to touch Dan’s leg, but decides once he’s halfway there that he can’t do it without the barrier of trousers, so his hand just hovers there awkwardly for a moment before he lets it drop back down. “I’m sorry, Dan. You can definitely say no if it’s going to make you feel like shit.”

Dan shakes his head. “It’s stupid. I’m not a teenager anymore. And this is my job. I can’t keep letting myself say no to good things just because I’m scared.” He turns his head and gives Phil an extremely pointed look.

Phil’s stomach flutters. “Tell me about the festival,” he says softly.

“It’s outdoors. It’s literally like a music festival but for films. It’s in this park in Canterbury and they have all these projectors everywhere and you just bring fold out chairs and sit in the grass. There are food trucks and everyone sleeps in tents and you can even have little bonfires in designated areas after the sun goes down. I read about it last year. The magazine sends someone every year. They screen loads of movies.”

“That sounds really amazing,” Phil says, hoping it’s not the wrong thing to say. 

“Yeah. It does. They’ll even pay for me to hire a car since I’d need to bring, like, camping gear.”

“Can you drive?” Phil asks. 

“Not that well, but yeah.”

Phil is utterly ridiculous, but picturing Dan behind the wheel is so unexpectedly hot that he has to force the thought out of his mind. “When is it?”

“This weekend.” He still doesn’t sound excited.

“You can say no,” Phil reminds him again.

Dan sighs. “I’ll hate myself if I do.”

“So bring me with you,” he blurts.

Dan’s face rearranges itself into an expression of disbelief. “Really?” Hopeful disbelief.

“I mean… if you want. If you’re allowed and you think that’d be a good—”

“You’d really wanna come?”

Phil laughs. “Dan. Yes. Of course. It sounds amazing. A film festival? And food trucks? I love films! And food! I’ve never been to a festival like that, it sounds like loads of fun with the right people. Or in this case, person.” 

“You don’t have to work?” Dan asks, like he’s trying to find some sort of loophole before he gets his hopes up. “It’s really last minute.”

“You know Stevie won’t mind,” Phil says. “I never request specific days off and she’s always telling me that my schedule can be flexible if it needs to be. She’ll probably just tell me she’s proud of me for doing something fun and impulsive!”

Dan’s smiling now. “Yeah. Yeah, I actually think this might be fun.” 

“Might be? But you’ll be with me! Your bestest buddy!” Phil bumps their shoulders together repeatedly until Dan is laughing and ducking away. “Of course it’ll be fun.” 

-

Stevie doesn’t at all mind him taking off. She reacts exactly as Phil thought she would, plus a lot of cooing about how this is their first weekend getaway. 

Phil hasn’t actually told her how things are with Dan. He doesn’t mind being honest with her when it’s only his own emotions he’s offering up for her to chew on and delight over, but he knows it wouldn’t be fair to share Dan’s struggles. 

Having her encouragement and excitement is fun, though. He’s buzzing even more as he hangs up the phone with her and starts to pack an overnight bag. 

He’s stuffing a third extra pair of pants into the bag - the voice of Kath and her warnings about being caught out with dirty pants ringing in his head - when a thought occurs to him. “Dan?” He calls out. 

Dan appears in his doorway. “Yeah?” 

“Do you actually have camping gear?” 

“Um.” Dan grins. “No. But I get to bill the company for expenses so we can have a fun time shopping if you want?” 

“Um, yes,” Phil says, as though there’s no other actual reasonable answer. “Snacks too, right?” 

“Yup,” Dan says, popping the p. “I mean, they owe me for doing this last minute anyway, so I don’t feel bad.” 

-

They find themselves in a shop of items so foreign to Phil that he might as well be on the moon. His parents took him on many holidays over the course of his life, but none of the Lesters were ever much for roughing it. In recent years, Cornelia has swayed Martyn to the rugged outdoorsy side, but Phil remains a man deeply attached to the comforts of electricity and running water and all the things that make modern life so wonderfully convenient.

Which is to say that he doesn’t know the first thing about camping, or the gear required for it. Luckily, Dan likes to be prepared.

He found the shop online. “It has the highest number of five star reviews,” he’d said.

“It’s halfway across the bloody city,” Phil had retorted, but didn’t actually argue further when Dan insisted.

Dan’s also made a list of everything they’ll need, after watching two and a half hours worth of camping videos on youtube. Videos that he also made Phil watch. Videos that were much more in depth than anything they’re going to need for one night at a festival in the park, but Dan’s enthusiasm was too painfully endearing for Phil to bother trying to temper.

They wander the store aimlessly for a while, until they finally find the tent section. 

“We need one that just pops up,” Dan says. “I’m not fucking around with poles and pegs and shit.”

Phil nods like he knows what that means and lets Dan do all the work of finding one that meets his requirements. It looks impossibly small, but Phil doesn’t mention it. If Dan wants to squeeze into a tiny makeshift bedroom with him, he’s not going to ask questions.

They spend nearly an hour in the shop, both of them slightly too socially reticent to ask any of the employees for help. Eventually they’ve got everything they need - a heavy duty waterproof torch, a lantern, fold out chairs, lighters, bug spray - except sleeping bags.

Phil’s heart starts to speed up as they walk into that section. “Should we… I mean, I think I may have one already—” 

Dan cuts him off. Phil can’t be sure if it’s on purpose or not. “This one says two-person.” 

He’s staring straight forward, not meeting Phil’s eyes. 

Suddenly Phil’s heart is full on racing, galloping inside his chest. 

“Yeah?” he manages. 

“Looks… um, comfortable.” Dan grabs it and holds it. “Doesn’t it?” 

“Yeah. Yes. It looks - yeah. Very comfortable.” Phil manages to eventually pair a few coherent words together. 

“Good,” Dan says, charging ahead. “We should find some of those sticks to put marshmallows on.”

“Marshmallows?” The good surprises just keep coming. 

-

Phil was right - Dan looks really hot behind the wheel. Despite his claims to the contrary, he drives like he does it every day. He seems so at ease. The windows are open and the wind is blowing in his hair and Dan’s got the radio on and Phil can hardly believe that this is his life. 

The boot is packed full of their stuff. Every time Phil remembers that he’s going to be sharing a sleeping bag with Dan tonight his stomach lurches, so he tries not to think about it. 

Dan picks up his phone and hands it to Phil. “I have Muse on there if you want to blast that.” 

“I love Muse!” 

“I know.” Dan glances over at him. His hair is fluffy from the wind and even though Phil can’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses Dan’s wearing, Phil has a feeling they are doing that squinty happy thing Phil loves. 

Phil finds the right playlist. “This is trust, you know. You handed me your phone.” 

“Don’t abuse the privilege.” 

Phil holds the phone up and snaps a few selfies, then sets one as his background. “Sure.” 

“You literally are abusing the privilege. I can literally see you.” 

“You say literally funny. Say it again.” 

“I am _literally_ going to kill you.” Dan reaches over to swat at Phil. 

“Eyes on the road, eyes on the road!” Phil shouts, laughing and squirming against the door of the car. 

He hands Dan back his phone though, watching as Dan sees the new background. “Idiot,” he says. 

“I know you are, but what am I?” Phil shoots back. 

Dan turns the music up even louder and Phil settes back, taking the hint that banter time is over. He lets the happiness just bubble up in his chest. 

-

They make one final stop once they near Canterbury. They find a Tesco and load up a bag full of snacks - the promised marshmallows and chocolate and granola bars and crisps, so many crisps because they can’t agree on what kind. 

“How is this so much more difficult than the actual weekly shop we do together?” Dan asks, trying to pry an entire chocolate cake out of Phil’s hands. “Food trucks, remember?” 

Phil reluctantly lets go. “I’m just peckish!” 

“You’re always peckish.” Dan pokes Phil in the cheek. 

He’s been doing that all day. Little pokes, little touches. Phil would accuse Dan of picking up Phil’s bad habits if he weren’t afraid that would spook Dan out of stopping. 

He gets a text and looks down. Stevie wants to know how it’s going. 

Phil picks up his phone and takes a picture of Dan with his head bent, studying the ingredients list of a package of biscuits. 

“I saw that,” Dan says. “You’re like my own private paparazzi.” 

“Can’t help it,” Phil says. “I like looking at you.” 

Dan looks over at Phil. His mouth works like he’s trying to form words, but eventually he just says, “Which one?” 

He doesn’t seem unhappy, though. If anything he just seems… pleased. 

“Both,” Phil says. “Obviously.” 

-

The park is lovely, lush and green and full of wide open spaces. It’s still a couple hours off from when the festival will actually start but Dan wanted to make sure they had plenty of time to set up and get something to eat before the films started. 

Phil feels a mix of conspicuous and important as he tags along while Dan gets his press badge. His own just says _guest_ but he clips it onto his shirt and then keeps fidgeting with it. 

“You’re really legit,” he says, as they walk away. 

Dan shrugs. “I guess.” 

“You’re also legitimately bad at accepting compliments.” 

“It’s just my job.” Dan keeps trying to ward it off, which just makes Phil more determined. 

“A job you’re really good at. I’m not stopping until you agree, by the way.” 

“Fine, fine.” Dan laughs. “I’m good at my job. Go figure, I managed to find something that catered to my strengths; flexible schedule, basically just involves sitting around watching films.” 

“Know what else you’re probably good at?” 

“What?” 

“Finding a place for our tent. This is getting heavy!” Phil whines. 

Dan reaches out and cuffs him on the back of his head. “Use your manly man muscles.” 

“I have no manly man muscles,” Phil argues. “Just… wimpy nerd arms.” 

Dan glances at him. “Your arms seem fine to me.” Then he quickly does a turnabout and says, “How about here?” 

It’s a spot far enough away from other tents that it doesn’t seem like they’ll be crowded in, and just by a nice big tree. There’s even one of the fire bits not that far away. 

“Perfect!” Phil drops their pop up tent onto the ground. He’s got the food too, and Dan’s carrying their chairs and the sleeping bag and the two cheap pillows they’d bought. 

Despite the fact that the tent should really take five minutes to put together they wrestle with it for at least twice that before they’re crawling inside. Dan spreads out the sleeping bag and Phil puts the pillows in place and he has another one of those moments where his heart feels like it’s crawling up his throat as he stares down at the place they’re going to sleep together tonight. 

Not like… _sleep together_. But sleep. Together. 

“Looks comfy.” 

“Dunno,” Dan says, turning and laying down. It’s just long enough when he stretches that his head is on the pillow and his feet are brushing the zippered door. “Okay, yeah. I mean, not exactly a five star mattress, but it’ll do.” 

“I should have brought the foam one I slept on,” Phil says. 

“You still have that? Would have thought you’d done a ceremonious burning once you could finally get rid of it.” 

“Thought maybe it’d be good for guests.” Phil’s making conversation but he has no idea how. His eyes are glued to Dan, whose own eyes are closed, and who looks perfectly comfortable in the bed they’ll soon share. 

“You should try it out too,” Dan says, cracking one eye open and patting the spot beside him. 

Phil does as he’s instructed, stretching out. There’s space between their bodies but the tent is such an intimate little bubble of containment that it still feels closer than they’ve ever been. 

“What do you think?” Dan asks. 

“Not bad,” Phil says. “Comfy. Like you said.” 

“Think we’ll sleep okay here?” Dan sounds nervous now in a way he hadn’t in the store. 

“I think we’ll sleep just fine,” Phil says. “Except I do snore sometimes, you know.” 

“That’s alright,” Dan says. “I kick.” 

“At least you don’t have to worry about someone hogging the duvet in a sleeping bag.” 

“If it’s possible I trust you’ll find a way,” Dan says. 

Phil wants to keep making jokes, but he can feel Dan’s apprehension, and it’s unbearable. “Dan.”

“What?”

“I can use a jumper or something as a blanket. I think I packed a towel, I can use that.”

“What? Why?”

Phil turns his head on the pillow to look at Dan. “I’m just saying.”

“Well don’t.” Dan’s eyes search Phil’s face.

Phil doesn’t want to be an experiment. He knows Dan is struggling and it’s not about him, but he’s just a man. Just a person with shames and insecurities of his own. 

But then Dan reaches out and touches Phil’s hip through his jeans. “Phil, don’t. Don’t say it.”

“Okay.”

“Let’s go find some food, yeah?”

Phil smiles. “Definitely.”

-

It’s the perfect distraction. They wander around the park, enjoying the green and the bustle of projectors going up and people chattering and setting up tents. There’s an aura of excitement that permeates everything, and Phil finds himself buzzing with it by the time they make it to the food trucks. Phil is keen to stop at the first one they find - pizza, of course - but Dan insists that they survey all that’s on offer first, and in the end it’s a good thing he does. They manage to find a truck with all vegetarian and vegan options, and Dan’s face lights up. Phil doesn’t even think of complaining. Besides, by now he has to admit that vegetables are kind of tasty when they’re cooked by someone who knows how to work with them.

Dan orders them chickpea burgers with sweet onions and rocket and tahini, sweet potato fries with curry sauce and iced cinnamon coconut milk lattes and Phil feels very adventurous indeed, but in the end it’s all genuinely delicious and he has to endure a lot of gloating on Dan’s part.

“Maybe someday I’ll tempt you over to my side properly,” Dan says, licking a dribble of curry sauce off his thumb. They’re sat at a picnic table watching a couple pigeons troll the ground under the table next to them for scraps.

“If we had a live-in chef who cooked stuff like this every day, I could definitely do it,” Phil admits. 

Dan rolls his eyes. “The internet is a thing, Phil. It’s full of recipes. And we can cook.”

“Yeah, but…” He waves his hand. “Effort.”

Dan shrugs. “Could be fun if we do it together.”

Phil smiles and looks down at his half eaten burger. The number of activities that statement could apply to is making the blood rush to his face.

Dan kicks his leg under the table. “Fucking perv.”

Phil looks up in surprise. How does Dan get in his head like that? And why is he smiling so widely? Why is he joking about sex between the two of them like it isn’t something that scares him? He vacillates between fear and boldness so swiftly that it makes Phil’s head spin sometimes. 

“We should,” Phil says, then quickly adds, “Cook. Vegan stuff. Together. You’re right, that could be fun.”

“Yay.”

“Yay,” Phil echoes. “Next time Adrian visits he won’t have to be appalled by my toxicity.”

“Ugh, I changed my mind. Let’s be cattle farmers instead.”

“Have you spoken to him much since he was here?” Phil asks.

“Not at all.” His expression has drained of all traces of humour, and Phil immediately regrets asking.

He changes the subject. “So how many films are we watching today?”

“I think three?” He pulls out his phone and opens up his itinerary. “Looks like… one this afternoon - that one’ll be shit, probably. They usually do the shit ones before the sun sets because it doesn’t matter that you can’t see the screen as clearly. Then one in the evening and one at midnight.”

“Ooh midnight.”

“Yeah and it’s a fucking thriller, apparently.” Dan frowns down at his phone. “Somehow I missed that before.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Dan tilts his head to the side and gives Phil a withering look. “I have to watch a scary film outside in the dark surrounded by trees, mate.”

Phil smiles. He can’t help it. Dan’s fear of trees and dark and all things mildly spooky will never be anything but endearing to him. “At least you’ll be in a big crowd of people and not all alone.”

“Yeah…” He looks over at the pigeons. “And I get to sleep next to you afterwards.”

“Yeah,” Phil says, just managing to contain the explosion in his chest. “You do.”

-

The afternoon film is indeed shit. It’s a cheesy rom-com filled from start to finish with tired clichés and bad writing. 

Phil loves it. He loves sitting in a vaguely uncomfortable fold out chair that definitely wasn’t built with someone of his height in mind. He loves the multitude of snacks he and Dan consume while they keep a murmured running commentary of just how unimaginative the film is. He loves the spiral bound notebook Dan keeps on his lap and the unintelligible words he scribbles into it every few minutes and the way he chews on the end of his pencil without seeming to notice. 

He loves the way Dan smiles when the main characters finally kiss. 

Phil leans in next to Dan’s ear. “It’s nice, innit?”

“It’s trite,” Dan says. “It’s asinine.” He’s trying very hard to stop smiling.

Phil pokes Dan’s dimple. “It’s nice.”

“Fine. It’s trite and asinine. And nice.”

-

The evening film is better, Phil reckons.

It starts just after the sun sets, so they get a show before the show. They’ve pulled on hoodies for maximum coziness, and once the pinks and oranges in the sky have given way to black, the air is cool and smells vaguely of wood smoke and they’ve got vegan nachos and bottled Ribena. Dan has a clickable light up pen so he can make notes in the dark, and Phil has a moment of wondering if the film is actually good or if he’s just so deliriously content that it doesn’t matter.

Dan seems the same. He doesn’t say much throughout the film, focused on his note taking sometimes and others just immersed in the cinematic experience. The movie is a long dramatic one with twists and turns winding through the interpersonal relationships, betrayal on a human level more than romantic. It’s not perfect; it goes on a bit too long and one of the actresses has an American accent that’s badly done. 

But it’s a good film in good company and by the time it’s over Phil is both glad and also ready to stretch his legs. 

The stretching of the legs takes them to the direction of the food trucks. 

“You can’t want more food,” Dan says. 

“Just popcorn,” Phil says. “Poporn and films just go together.” 

“That’s what you said about nachos.” 

“Well, nachos and films also go together. Besides, don’t you want a bucket to hide your face behind when you get too scared at this next one?” Phil grins, teasing in a way he doesn’t think Dan will mind. 

“Fuck off,” Dan says, amiable as he pulls out his wallet and steps forward to order some popcorn. “Sweet or salty?” 

“Salty,” Phil says. “You should know this.” 

“I didn’t know if your film festival popcorn tastes were different from your home popcorn tastes.” 

“Oh, well, that’s valid. But still salty.” 

“I can’t believe I’m buying you more snacks.” 

“I can buy—” 

“No, I’m buying the bloody popcorn. I’m just in disbelief that I am.” 

Phil laughs, that warmth curling itself around him. Dan isn’t looking at him but he’s staring ahead and smiling and a few seconds later he turns to Phil with a small tub of popcorn in his grasp. 

“You didn’t want any?” Phil asks. 

“We’re sharing,” Dan says, then picks up a single kernel and tosses it at Phil. 

Phil opens his mouth to try and catch it, but it bounces off of his nose. “Try again.” 

Dan tosses another. This one bumps off of Phil’s chin. 

“We need to work on that,” Dan says. 

“We probably also need to move,” Phil says, glancing over at a couple of women staring at them. 

Dan follows his gaze. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something at them. Phil grabs his arms and pulls him away, laughing. 

“What?” Dan asks. He’s laughing too. It’s a really nice sound and Phil really doesn’t want to let go of his arm. “I was just going to tell them not to bother wasting their time.” 

“What?!” Phil asks. 

“Well, they were checking one of us out,” Dan says. “And I think it was you.” 

Phil’s voice goes squeaky. “I thought they were just waiting for us to get out of the popcorn line!” 

“Mhmm. Sure you did.” 

“I really did!” Phil pauses. “But… on the off chance that you were right, then yeah. They were wasting their time. I think if there was one of us they were checking out it’d be you, though.” 

He waits after that, doesn’t look at Dan but still just… waits. 

“Maybe they were checking both of us out,” Dan says, finally. He has a bashful look on his face that Phil really enjoys. 

-

The temperature drops even more as the clock nears midnight. They move their chairs closer together but through a quiet mutual agreement still stay off by themselves, avoiding the more crowded areas near the fire pits. 

Phil wouldn’t be able to describe the plot of this film if someone paid him. It’s not that it’s uninteresting; on the contrary, it’s something of a master class in prolonged tension. But that means that Dan is visibly unnerved about twenty minutes in, and after the first big scare of the movie, his hand darts out in the darkness to grab for Phil’s. He pulls it into his lap, their fingers intertwining, and Phil can’t really pay attention to anything else after that. 

Dan doesn’t take any notes, but he’s riveted. His eyes don’t leave the screen. Phil’s do. A lot. He steals countless furtive glances whenever there’s enough light on screen to reflect back on the curves of Dan’s face. It’s not that different than it would be if they were at home, really. Except for the handholding. And the sound of crickets chirping and the woodsy smell and the way they’re joined in the darkness by hundreds of fellow cinephiles.

When the film ends, Phil’s hand is still tucked away in Dan’s, his arm almost unbearably sore from being bent over Dan’s armrest for nearly two hours. Dan doesn’t let go, even when people around them start standing up and collecting their chairs.

“You alright?” Phil asks, squeezing Dan’s hand, his tone that of playful teasing.

“Yeah.”

“Did you like that one?”

Dan nods.

“Do you need to take notes?”

“No, I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Okay.” He rubs the back of Dan’s hand with his thumb. “So.”

Dan looks at him.

“Wanna build a fire and watch me eat too many marshmallows?”

“No.”

Phil’s smile falters. “Oh, okay—”

“Let’s go to bed.”

Phil probably shouldn’t feel that like a shockwave of heat rippling from head to toe. It’s like half two in the morning and they had to get up early to make it to the car rental place. It’s been a long day. Brilliant, but eventful, and it makes perfect sense that Dan is tired.

But that’s really not the feeling he put behind his words. He didn’t say _No, I’d rather go to sleep or I’m too tired to babysit your ass around an open flame_. He said _Let’s go to bed_ , and Phil is glad it’s dark enough that Dan probably can’t see how red his face has gone. 

“Yeah,” Phil says. “Yeah, let's do that.”


	27. Chapter 27

*

*

They brush their teeth and change into joggers and t-shirts in the facilities, joining a handful of other people who aren’t making it an all nighter. 

The tent seems smaller than it had before. He watches Dan zip the door up. He’s sitting on the sleeping bag but not inside it yet.

“Fuck, it’s cold,” Dan says. “I forgot how cold camping can be.” 

“I’ve never been camping much,” Phil says. “My mum and dad were more the type to rent a house when we went on holiday.” 

“I went to Reading a few years in a row.” 

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” Phil says. “It wasn’t a good experience.” 

Dan’s laugh is dry. “If you consider me sitting up half the night convinced the local violent psychopath was going to axe murder me in my sleep because my mates thought it’d be a good idea to tell him I’m a— well, to tell him shit about me.” 

“Jesus,” Phil says. “That’s awful.” 

“At least tonight when I can’t sleep because I’m afraid someone will axe murder me, I can comfort myself with the fact that it’s not a real person.” 

“Don’t worry,” Phil says. “I’ll protect you.” 

Dan looks at him and it’s so dark around them that Phil can barely see the smile on his face. “Will you?”

“Yeah,” Phil softly says. “I will.” 

“Thanks.” Dan moves forward, rustling against the sleeping bag. “Come on. Let’s get in.” 

It’s a tight fit, and there’s no way for them not to be touching once they’re zipped up inside. They’re both laid on their backs, shoulders pressed together. Phil’s sure they’re straining the zipper, but he’s not going to move unless Dan says it’s okay. 

“Cozy,” he says.

Dan snorts. 

Phil says, “Not too late for me to dig out my towel.”

Dan is quiet for a long time. So long that Phil starts to brace himself for Dan to agree.

But he doesn’t. “That’s not what you want, is it?”

“Dan.”

“What? I’m just asking.”

It’s so dark in the tent. It’s not quiet, because there are lots of people outside, but there’s still an air of intimacy. Phil closes his eyes. “I don’t want to make you feel like you need to do things just because I want them.”

“I’m not,” Dan says without hesitation. “It just… helps to know I’m not making things up in my head.”

Phil rolls onto his side facing Dan. “You know you’re not.”

“I don’t know anything.”

“Dan…” Phil starts to lift his hand, because his first instinct is always tactile, but he knows Dan’s already being pushed to the outer edges of his boundaries. “You know.” He puts as much weight behind the words as he can and keeps his hands to himself.

Dan reaches for the hand that wanted to reach for him. He grips it tightly, even moreso than he had during the movie. 

“This isn’t comfortable, though,” Dan says. “You should turn on your side.” 

“What—” 

“Like, facing away.” Dan’s voice wavers slightly. “Please.” 

Phil has no idea what to think. Are they going to sleep back to back? He’s prepared for that, if it’s what makes Dan comfortable, even if he has a sense of disappointment creeping up his throat. 

He lies there with his head on the pillow listening to the sound of Dan moving. His heart nearly leaps out of his chest when he feels one of Dan’s arms drop over his waist. 

“This alright?” Dan asks. 

His voice is very close, breath warm against the chilled skin of Phil’s neck. 

“Yeah—” Phil’s voice cracks. “Yeah. Much comfier like this.” 

They’re quiet for a moment. Phil can hear people laughing and talking in the distance. He’s glad they didn’t do marshmallows by the fire. Dan’s holding him and he’s so glad. 

“I do know,” Dan whispers. “I hope you know, too.” 

Phil answers by laying his hand over Dan’s. He wouldn’t have said definitively that he knew anything before now. But he doesn’t want to say that. He wants to be fully present in this moment, in right here and now when Dan is telling him the thing he’s been longing to hear. It almost feels like too much. 

Dan’s voice remains a whisper. “I wish I didn’t have to make you wait.”

“You’re not making me do anything. I love being your flatmate, Dan. I love being your friend.”

He feels Dan’s forehead press against the base of his neck. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Phil smiles into the dark. “Especially love it when you let me talk you into being lazy with me and ordering takeaway so we don’t have to waste time cooking when we could be watching films. And you let me infect you with my love of eighties and nineties cinema.” 

“I love that you’re pushing my cinematic bounds,” Dan answers. “And I love that you’re willing to try vegan food just to eat with me even though you prefer meat.” 

“It’s not all bad,” Phil says. “I really liked what we had tonight.” 

“I love that you saw me upset about having to come to this thing and your first thought was how to make it better for me.” Dan squeezes Phil just a bit around the middle, the hint of a hug. “You’re amazing, I hope you know.” 

“People have called me that before.” Phil teases. “Alright, mostly my mum, when I’d bring her a new drawing to put on the fridge.” 

“If you wanna bring me drawings I’ll put them on the fridge, too,” Dan promises. 

“Even if they’re all phallic symbolism?” 

“Phil. I’m the one who bought you a giant fucking phallic symbol of a painting with my own actual money.” 

“Oh yeah.” Phil smiles, pleased. “I do love that painting.” 

“Of course you do.” Dan laughs quietly. 

“I love that you bought it for me. I put it up in my room, by the way.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did. Right above my bed.”

“That’s horrific.”

“It’s not. It’s two things I love: art and dicks. It’s perfect. And it reminds me of you. So three things, really.”

“Three things you love?” Dan asks softly.

“Three of my favourite things,” Phil amends. “Three things that make my life better.”

Dan laughs a huff of warm air against the back of Phil’s neck. “Getting a lot of dick lately, then, are you?”

Phil kicks his leg back gently. “Shut up.”

“But… you’re not, right?” The apprehension in his voice is clear.

It makes Phil feel a lot. “Of course not.”

“You could be. I don’t know.”

“We’ve been over this.” Phil tugs Dan’s hand so his arm tightens a little around his waist. “You know.”

“I wanted to hear you say it.”

Guilt bubbles up in Phil’s gut as he remembers the ill advised half hour that Grindr lived on his phone. He wants not to have to tell Dan about it, but he realizes that if he doesn’t, he’s going to feel like he’s lying. “I kind of tried. I tried to want to. I downloaded an app, then deleted it almost right away.”

“When?”

Phil squeezes his eyes shut. “The night you burned your stomach.”

Dan is quiet for a long time. “I hate that.”

“I’m sorry. If it helps, I really hated it too.”

“Was it Grindr?”

The question - hearing Dan give the app a name - makes Phil feel weird. “Yeah.” 

“I’ve downloaded it too.” 

“Have you ever met up with anyone on it?” Phil asks, suddenly understanding exactly what Dan meant when he said he hated hearing that Phil had. 

“No,” Dan says. “Never went through with it. I’d always just spend a while chatting with someone and saying to myself that I was really going to this time only to just panic and delete the whole app.” 

“Would have been weird if we’d seen each other on it,” Phil says. “I can’t imagine that.” 

“We wouldn’t have. I haven’t even tried to use it since you moved in.” 

“Oh,” Phil says. “Is it awful if I say I like that?” 

Dan laughs a little. “No. Is it awful if I like that you like that?” 

“No,” Phil says. He hugs Dan’s hand a little more tightly to him. “I think we’re both allowed to feel the things we’re feeling.” 

“Allowing myself to feel things isn’t a personal strength of mine.” 

“Well,” Phil says. “We’ll just have to work on that.” 

“You’ve seen how messy my feelings can be.”

“And you’ve seen that mine can be too,” Phil reminds him. “And you told me that was okay. And it’s okay for you too.”

“Sometimes they’re not okay. Sometimes they’re dark and horrible and dangerous. Sometimes they’re lies.”

Phil swallows. “It sounds like you’re pretty good at knowing the difference, though?”

“I’m trying,” Dan says quietly. “I’m really trying.”

Now it’s Phil’s turn to whisper. “You’re allowed to feel things about me.”

Dan laughs, and for a split second Phil can feel a brush of lips on his neck. “I couldn’t stop those even if I wanted to. And I don’t anymore.”

“Anymore?”

“Anymore.” He doesn’t elaborate. Phil supposes he doesn’t really need to. 

“I’m glad.”

“Me too,” Dan whispers. “It still feels scary, though. I can’t lie about that.”

“I know,” Phil says. He strokes over Dan’s knuckles with his thumb. “It’s alright. I’m here.”

“Good,” Dan says. “Think I’d have a hard time letting you go even if you didn’t want to be.” 

“Literally nowhere else I’d rather be.” Phil slides his hand underneath Dan’s, turning his palm up so their fingers can lock together. 

“They play animated short films in the morning,” Dan says. “And encourage you to wear pajamas.” 

“Saturday morning cartoons!” Phil couldn’t actually be more delighted. 

“The food trucks do breakfast, too.” 

“Dan. We’re coming here every year, alright?” 

“Every year?” Dan asks. “That’s a commitment.” 

“Yeah, well,” Phil says. “Maybe I’m just confident.” 

“Fuck.” Dan’s voice is shaky but it doesn’t seem like a bad thing from how tightly he’s squeezing Phil. “Fuck.” 

Phil still needs to be sure, though. “Unless that’s too scary.” 

“No,” Dan says. “No, it’s good. Terrifyingly good. But good.” 

“Do you think they have pancakes?” 

Dan laughs. “You’re an idiot. They probably do, though. I bet that truck that was doing crepes has breakfast ones.” 

“I still want roasted marshmallows, though.”

“For breakfast? You freak.”

“There’s never a bad time for melty marshmallows, Daniel. It’s very important to me that you understand this.”

“Trust me, I understand that you’re a sugar fiend. I really do.”

“Do you know how to build a fire?” Phil asks. “Because I definitely don’t. Another one of those manly talents that skipped right over me.”

“Shut up. You’re plenty manly. Anyway, we have a lighter. I’m pretty sure all we have to do is throw some wood in the pit and light it up. Not that complicated.”

“You’ll build me a fire?” Phil asks.

“I’ll build you a fire.”

“I don’t promise not to swoon.”

Dan just laughs and presses his face into Phil’s neck. Phil’s stomach is all twisty and fluttery, and it takes a considerable amount of self control not to turn around and test all the confessions Dan’s made. He won’t do that. But he really fucking wants to.

“I guess we should sleep,” Phil says. “Don’t wanna miss morning pajama party cartoons.”

“And a balanced breakfast of sugar, sugar, and more sugar.”

“And coffee.”

“All the coffee,” Dan agrees. 

-

Phil wakes up a few times in the night, when other festival goers get too close or just when a dream takes a sharp turn into something that makes his mind snap to awareness. Once he just stays up a few minutes feeling Dan’s body tucked in close to his, arm still around Phil’s side but lax now. 

He thinks Dan is sleeping well. He hopes so. He’s smiling that wish into his pillow when he falls asleep for the last time before actual sunrise. 

When he wakes up, he’s feeling something else entirely, though. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised. Sure, he’s in his thirties and his penis doesn’t rule his life night and day anymore… but it does sometimes decide to make its physical presence known and right now is one of those times. 

He flushes and wonders if he can sneak off without actually waking Dan. A wee would probably take care of it. But he knows it isn’t just that. He knows on some level he’s reacting to sharing a bed (well - a sleeping bag) with a man he’s insanely attracted to. 

“Hi,” Dan mumbles, answering at least one question for Phil. No, he definitely can’t sneak out first. 

“Hi,” he whispers back. 

“It’s so early.” 

Phil snakes one hand out from under the sleeping bag and taps his phone. “Half eight. Not that early.” 

Dan groans. “Too early.” 

“When do the cartoons start?” 

“Animated short films,” Dan says, some of the sleep clearing from his voice. 

“That’s what I said. Cartoons.” 

Dan laughs. “We probably missed the first one, but I think they do a couple an hour.” 

“You should go start the fire,” Phil says, trying to be sneaky another way. 

“Am I your servant boy?”

“Are you offering to be?” 

“No.” Dan pinches Phil’s side. “We can both start the fire.” 

“You should…” Phil struggles to find a way to be subtle and realizes that subtlety has just never been something he’s good at. “I can’t move yet.” 

“Why does your laziness have more validity than mine?” Dan whinges.

“That’s not…” Phil sighs. “Look. If you want me to get up out of the sleeping bag right now, you’re going to have to avert your eyes.”

Dan asks, “Avert my eyes from what?” but his body has gone very still.

“I think you know,” Phil says, rolling forward a little to press his face into the pillow.

“Well,” Dan says. “So. Okay. Alright. I’m getting up now. Going to start the fire. But you’re coming with me.” He lets go of Phil and Phil hears the noise of the zipper on the sleeping bag. Cool air touches skin that had been warm all night, and not even that is enough to deter his embarrassing and frankly childish erection.

“Avert your eyes,” Phil says again.

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Phil hears Dan unzipping the door of the tent and assumes he’s in the clear. He throws the sleeping bag off his body and finds his glasses and rolls onto his back and—

Dan is just stood there. Staring.

“Dan,” Phil squeaks. He’s looking at Dan’s face but Dan’s not meeting his eyes. “I told you not to look.”

“Yeah,” Dan says. He sounds far away. “Decided I didn’t care.”

Phil clears his throat. He wants to look down and see how obvious it is, but he forces himself not to. “Didn’t care?” 

“Yeah.” Dan chews on his bottom lip and then finally looks Phil in the face. “That’s really fucking hot.” 

Phil’s voice comes out barely a croak. “Oh.” 

“Kind of wish we’d been lying the other way around.” 

Dan’s eyes are so brown and so intense and Phil feels a little lightheaded.

“Oh.” 

“Probably best that we weren’t,” Dan says, laughing self-consciously. “But…” 

“Maybe next time,” Phil blurts out. 

Dan looks up at him. Is it even a look? Maybe it’s more of a smoulder. Phil’s not sure he’s ever been smouldered at before. “Yeah. Sounds like a plan.” 

“Okay. I, um. I need coffee,” Phil says. He doesn’t add that he needs it or he might just tackle Dan and do something that’d push far too many boundaries. 

“Alright,” Dan says, unzipping the tent. “I’ll get the fire started. You can take a minute.” 

He flops back against the pillow once Dan’s out, breathing in deep and trying to get himself under control. 

-

There’s a fire going in their designated little pit by the time Phil finally manages to convince his cock that he doesn’t need it to be at full attention right now. He steps out of the tent sheepish at how long it took him to get a hold of himself, but Dan isn’t actually there. Phil figures he probably just went to the loo, so he pulls up his fold out chair and sits next to the flame to warm himself. 

It’s a gorgeous morning. There isn’t a cloud in the sky and the air is cool. Birds are chirping in the distance, and the chatter of fellow campers is only loud enough to be a comfort, not an annoyance. Phil reckons a lot of people are still asleep, and the overwhelming feeling is that of peacefulness. He kind of wishes they never had to leave.

Dan returns about ten minutes later, arms later loaded down with two coffees and two plates of pancakes. “Help,” he squawks, trying to hold out one of the coffees.

Phil leaps up from his chair and takes his half of the breakfast haul. “I would do unspeakable things— I would literally kill for you right now.” He looks down at his plate. There’s bacon on it. “Dan,” he moans gratefully. “You really didn’t have to—”

“I needed to do something,” Dan interrupts. His cheeks are red and suddenly Phil realizes it’s because he’s still flustered. “Couldn’t just sit there waiting for you knowing…”

“I’m really sorry if—”

“Shh,” Dan interrupts. “Just— shush. Don’t make me say I’ll be thinking about that all day. And probably tonight, too.”

Phil wants to hide his face, but his hands are full. He opens his mouth then closes it again. Then he says, “You can’t just… say things.”

“It’s fully your fault.” He pulls his chair up so it’s right next to Phil’s, then sits. “Come on. Food is a good distraction.”

Phil feels dazed. This whole trip has been surreal from the moment it began. “From?” 

“From… all of it.” Dan opens the lid of his coffee and takes a long drink. 

“Do you need space?” he asks quietly. He doesn’t think Dan looks upset but he still wants to check, he wants to be sure. 

“Fuck no,” Dan says. “I want food and then I want to watch some pretentious arthouse cartoons.” 

“Well,” Phil says, grabbing the fork on his place. He’s not exactly unphased either, but he can always eat. “That sounds good to me.”

-

The cartoons are fun - or at least fun to make fun of - but Phil finds more enjoyment in the fact that Dan’s got bedhead and he’s wearing pajamas. 

It’s not like Phil doesn’t see that all the time. By now he’s lost count of the number of mornings that have started with Dan stumbling out of his bedroom to the smell of the coffee Phil’s making. 

But it seems different here, different in a really nice way that warms Phil through and through. 

“I don’t even understand this one.” 

“Of course you don’t, spork. It’s in Latin.” 

“Why’s it in _Latin_? No one even speaks that!” 

“I guess rip to every Latin major in the world,” Dan says.

“I mean, it’s literally called a dead language. There aren’t even subtitles.” 

“I think it’s supposed to be about imagery and like, symbolism. Universal themes that transcend language.” 

“I am gonna need at least one anthropomorphized animal to bop another one on the head or chase it off a cliff and have it do the thing where its legs keep going in a circle until it realizes there’s no ground under it when it falls.”

“You want fucking Looney Tunes? That’s not even British. You’re a traitor to our people.” 

“First of all, those cartoons totally aired here. Or maybe I saw them on holiday in Florida… Hm. Anyway, what would you have them show if you could pick?” 

“Arthur,” Dan says immediately. “Or Winnie the Pooh.”

“Aww,” Phil coos. “Even your cartoon preferences are cute.” 

“Shut up.” Dan reaches over and thumbs Phil’s cheek very lightly. 

“Ow.” Phil dodges it, badly. 

“That did not hurt.” Dan rolls his eyes. 

“Maybe it - oooh.” Phil jumps slightly. “Got a text.” 

He digs his phone from where it’s slid halfway under his ass. 

“Who’s texting you?” Dan frowns slightly, like he’s genuinely bothered that anyone dare interrupt their morning. 

“Just Martyn. Wants my address for some reason. I wonder if he’s going to send me a present? He’d better be sending me a present. I’m gonna tell him that.” Phil pauses and types it out. 

“What’s your version of a good present?” Dan asks. “Wait, let me guess: edible?” 

“Edible is always best,” Phil agrees. “I love trying sweets from other countries.” 

“Maybe they’ll throw an international film festival at me so you can get you some sweets.” 

Phil looks up at him, smiling in surprise. “Sign me up.” 

Dan snickers. “As if you get a say in it.” 

-

They stay at the festival through the end of the cartoons and then a short film after that. It’s got queer themes - a bisexual girl enjoying first love set to a long winding dance number - that warm Phil up and he thinks it does the same for Dan. 

Dan gets a text when it’s almost over and then sighs in annoyance. “We should pack up. They want the first review to go up tomorrow morning to try and beat the other outlets.” 

“Oh, damn. I thought we were staying through today.” Phil pouts. There wouldn’t be any reason to stay another night but the last film isn’t for hours. 

“The last couple are just special edition things, re-showing last year’s winner and some kind of award presentation. Guess they don’t give a shit if I’ve got anything to say about those.” 

“What if we stayed longer and I drove home so you can write…” Phil asks. 

“How many times did you say it took you to pass your driving course?” 

“I - what do they say in American cop shows? I plead the fiftieth.” 

“Something like that,” Dan says. “Anyway, we hired a car, remember? I don’t want to have to explain to him how you wrecked it because I let you drive when you can barely steer your own body around a lamp post on a London sidewalk.” 

“Fine,” Phil says, standing up. His back twinges slightly from sleeping on the ground. He folds his chair back up as Dan does the same. “I guess all good things have to come to an end.”


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for marijuana use in this chapter

*

*

It’s mid afternoon by the time they get back to London. Phil is exhausted, and Dan definitely looks like he is. They’re both happy, though. They listened to Muse and Frank Ocean the whole way. Phil snacked on leftover marshmallows and sang along as Dan drove.

They return the rental car and haul their gear back to the flat and collapse on the sofa like slugs.

But the reprieve for Dan is short lived. “Fuck,” he groans, pulling his legs from where he’s flopped them over top of Phil’s. “I really need to write.”

“I wish I could help,” Phil says, though he’s secretly chuffed to the core of his being that he doesn’t have any responsibilities to attend to today beyond maybe feeding himself.

“You could make coffee,” Dan says. “Couple extra scoops for me.”

“I can definitely do that.” He sits up and, without really thinking, reaches over to stroke Dan’s jaw where it’s starting to stubble. He feels like he’s allowed to do stuff like that now.

Dan’s smile tells him he’s not wrong about that. “Puberty has been a pretty slow burn for me, but I think I can finally sprout some five o’clock shadow.”

“More like five days later shadow,” Phil teases.

“We can’t all be as genetically blessed as you, Lester.”

Phil snorts, then hauls himself off the sofa before he does something crazy like stick his tongue in Dan’s mouth.

-

The rest of the day is spent in the way Phil has come to love: sat next to each other on the sofa, Dan writing, Phil watching Buffy, drinking coffee and eating food and talking only when one of them has something to say. Dan keeps reading parts of his review out loud to get Phil’s input, and Phil is mostly useless because he _genuinely_ thinks everything Dan writes is pithy and clever.

When it’s time for bed, Phil has a moment of wanting to ask Dan to sleep with him, but he doesn’t have the words, and he doesn’t want to push. A lot happened in the past few days. Dan made some bloody huge confessions, and Phil tried to follow his lead and not make a big deal of them, but they were. They were a really big deal.

So they say goodbye in the hallway, and it’s almost as nice as spending the night together. They share a hug that lingers, Dan’s chin dug into Phil’s shoulder. When Dan pulls away, he smiles almost apologetically. “See you in the morning?”

Phil nods. “I took tomorrow off to recover.”

“Good.” Dan takes another step back. “You can make me breakfast then.”

“It’s a date.” Phil gets the words out spins on his heels, not waiting around to see the look on Dan’s face or let Dan see the grin on his.

-

Sleeping in the next morning feels like a luxury. Even though this bed doesn’t have a Dan, it does have a very nice mattress and no festival goers chatting right outside his window.

He gets up and showers, makes coffee and then feeds Gerald.

“It’s a good morning,” he says to his bird friend, who hops slightly over on the iron balcony railing. “Here you go, mate. Seeds on me.”

He steps back to let Gerald eat in peace. He’s contemplating if he wants to make Dan breakfast in bed (cereal, probably) or if that might just be one step too far when he hears Dan moving around. It’s late morning and Dan does have more reviews to write so he shouldn’t be surprised, but he’s still slightly disappointed that his breakfast in bed plans were dashed.

Still, it’s not that bad in the end, because Dan looks rumpled and sleep-warm and cozy and they get to stand side by side in the kitchen.

“Cereal?” Phil asks. “Or something else?”

“Let’s do more pancakes,” Dan says. “You’re turning me slightly into a monster for them, I think.”

“Wait, that’s not a good thing, actually. That means I have to share them!”

“That’s right, Lester,” Dan says. “You created your own doom.”

“I’ll show you,” Phil says. “I’ll… I’ll… well, I can’t think of what I’ll do, but when I do think of it then I’ll do it!”

“Uh huh,” Dan says, pulling down some ingredients. “Sure you will, bub.”

-

Ten minutes later they’ve got a bowl full of pancake batter, along with a complimentary counter full of flour.

In the midst of chaos, inspiration strikes. Phil runs his finger through the mix and then turns around and dots it on Dan’s nose with a triumphant, “Ha!”

“The fuck, mate?” Dan sputters.

“I told you I’d get you back,” Phil informs him. “And I did.”

“You really want to play this game?” Dan’s eyes narrow. “You really want to fuck with someone you know has better reflexes and hand-eye coordination than you?”

Phil is all misplaced confidence, going right for the batter. He gets another finger full and lunges at Dan, who easily grabs Phil’s wrist and holds his hand at bay. He looks at Phil’s gooey pancake-dripped finger and then at Phil with one eye raised.

“Hey!” Phil tries to tug his arm free.

Dan doesn’t let go. He just steps in closer. “Whatcha gonna do with that?”

“You know what I’m gonna do,” Phil says, even though he doesn’t. In fact, he’s having a hard time remembering what he was about to do right now, because Dan’s eyes are so intense and locked right on his.

He lets himself be pulled in just a little more. He barely even notices when Dan lowers both of their arms to the side. There’s a delicious tension suddenly surrounding them and Phil’s breath catches…

Just as he hears a knock on the door.

They jump apart as though someone just caught them doing something.

“Who the fuck is that?” Dan asks, annoyed in the way he always is when literally anyone rings or knocks on the door.

“I’ll get it,” Phil says. He grabs a kitchen towel and wipes his finger free of the batter. “You can hide.”

The last thing he’s expecting when he opens it is to find his brother and Cornelia standing there. “Hi,” Martyn says, grinning the shit-eating grin only a big brother can manage. “Surprise.”

“On my god!” Phil startles forward and hugs Martyn and then Cornelia. “Wow, did you tell me you were coming? You didn’t tell me you were coming, did you?”

“Wouldn’t have been much of a surprise if I had.” Martyn nudges in past him.

Phil just stares after him.

“I’m sorry,” Cornelia says, picking up the manners that Martyn seemed to have dropped. “Is this a bad time? I did tell him we should give you some notice.”

“No, no,” Phil says, laughing. Once the shock wears off he really is glad to see him. “No, it’s not a bad time, this is wonderful. I’m just - I didn’t even know you were back in the country!”

“We had a red-eye flight in,” Martyn says. “It was meant to just be a layover at Heathrow but mum got wind of it thanks to a little red-headed birdie…”

Cornelia whistles. “Tweet tweet.”

“And she demanded we take at least a couple of days to check in on you and make sure you were surviving London.”

Phil rolls his eyes. “I’m doing just fine and she knows it.”

“Where’s your flatmate?” Cornelia asks suddenly.

“Right here,” Dan says.

Phil turns and yeah - there he is, standing in the kitchen doorway. He’s tall and slightly red in the face and he has a dusting of flour on the right thigh of his joggers and he’s so pretty he takes Phil’s breath away.

“Nice to see you again, mate,” Martyn says, saluting him.

Cornelia looks over at Phil. It’s just a quick thing, but he gets it. She’s making connections in her head. Somehow. After seeing Dan for all of five seconds. All Phil can do about is smile. He kind of likes that it’s obvious. It makes him feel settled. It makes everything feel real.

As much as he’d like these two to bugger off and let him and Dan go back to whatever was about to happen, it’s nice to have them here. It’s nice to see them, for them to see him looking happy and healthy. It’s been a long time.

They look happy and healthy too. Martyn has a tan. Cornelia’s arms look even more lean-muscled than they usually do. They both look tired, but their eyes are bright. He hugs them both long and tight, and smiles when Cornelia demands a hug from Dan. She’s even shorter than Stevie, and it looks like Dan is just going to swallow her up completely as he embraces her wholeheartedly.

Dan is so gracious. He invites the two of them into the kitchen and adds more batter to the bowl and makes pancakes for everyone. Phil tries to help but mostly just gets in the way, so Dan banishes him to the little table that they never use and tells him he has to catch up with his family.

Phil does make coffee. He’s not totally useless. Martyn makes fun of him for still drinking “that instant shite” and Cornelia swats his arm. She has tea and pulls her legs up and looks at Phil like a proud sister. She delights in hearing about Atelier and Stevie and even Gerald.

Phil keeps looking over at Dan, whose long neck is bent as he watches the batter fry in the pan. Phil knows he doesn’t always do well with socializing, and unexpected socializing is something else entirely. Especially in his own home, this little sanctum they’ve built. It occurs to Phil that neither of them has had anyone else inside the walls of this flat since the day Phil moved in save the visit from Adrian that Dan didn’t even want, and a spike of guilt stabs at him.

He surreptitiously works his phone out of his pocket and opens up his messages with Dan while Martyn is talking about biking in Amsterdam.

_I’m really sorry Dan I had no idea they were coming. It’s okay if you need us to piss off so you can work. Or if you need to leave. Don’t feel obligated to hang out._

Dan can’t check his phone until he’s done with the pancakes, so Phil keeps conversation with Martyn and Cornelia going.

When he does see Dan finally pick it up and glance at the message, he tenses waiting for the response… but all Dan does is slide it closed then pick up a plate of pancakes and put it down on the table. “I’m glad my last flatmate left the extra chairs,” Dan says. “This is the first time we’ve actually used them.”

He squeezes himself into the chair between Phil and the wall. The table is so small that their plates all bump and their elbows touch. Phil is self consciously trying to keep his limbs to himself when he feels Dan’s knee press firmly against his own. It’s followed moments later by a squeeze to his thigh.

Phil glances over at Dan, who flashes a quick, soft smile at him. Phil relaxes then, understanding that Dan’s telling him he’s alright, trusting Dan with his own boundaries.

“Can’t believe Phil’s already got you making his favorite foods,” Martyn says. “Every time we’d come back from Florida he’d beg mum for American pancakes every morning for months. She used to joke that he should just have IHOP adopt him.”

“I thought she was serious once,” Phil says. “I had a weird nightmare about having to live in an IHOP with American grandmas with big blonde hair and really red lipstick pinching my cheeks and telling me what an adorable accent I had.”

“Oh,” Martyn says. “That wasn’t a nightmare. You don’t remember the time we accidentally left you there? Got on the plane and halfway across the ocean before mum was like, wait there’s something missing, that flight was far too peaceful… had to turn the whole plane around.”

“Must have repressed that,” Phil answers dryly.

Martyn finally breaks face and snickers. “Would have been a dream for me. We couldn’t all sit together so they’d always put me in the seat in front of him, it’d be mum and Phil behind and me and dad one row up. Was fine for the first couple years but then his legs got longer and he started realizing he could kick me for six hours straight…”

Phil wants to laugh, but something about the casual way Martyn just mentioned their father sticks in his throat.

So he changes the subject instead. “How long are you here for?”

Martyn shrugs. “Just a night, I reckon. We’re not trying to move in with you or anything.” He nudges Phil with his elbow. “Unless you’re desperate for us to stay longer. We could set up bunk beds like the old days, eh?”

Phil is about to tell him where to stick it when Cornelia shrieks. “Phil!”

“What?” Phil asks, bewildered.

“Is that a tattoo?” She points at his wrist.

Martyn’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. “What?”

“Oh, uh…” He flips his arm over and lays it on the table so Martyn and Corn can get a good look. “Yeah.”

“Mate,” Martyn says. “Who are you and what have you done with my little brother?”

Phil shrugs sheepishly. “It’s just little.”

“It’s a tattoo!” Corn exclaims. She looks at Dan. “You’ve corrupted him!”

Dan holds up his arms defensively, putting his own ink on display. “He’s the one who dragged me!”

“It’s true,” Phil says. “But you can all blame my boss. She’s the real corruptor.”

Cornelia takes Phil’s wrist in her hand and runs her finger over it like she’ll be able to rub it off. “What does it mean?” she asks.

“Phil loves lightning,” Martyn says. He looks at Phil, then, and Phil sees that he understands.

It makes his throat feel tight again. It’s not the all consuming sorrow that had him in its grip the last time he’d been in Martyn and Cornelia’s company, but it’s there still. Always there in the back of his mind. It’s nice to see his family, but there’s a note of bitter amongst the sweet.

“I love it,” she says. “Very minimalist.”

“Dan designed it,” Phil says. His voice comes out far softer than he’d intended.

“Are you an artist?” Cornelia asks, her curiosity piqued.

Dan laughs bashfully. “Uh, no, that’s the extent of my skill right there. Anyway it was more like a suggestion than a design.”

“It’s good,” Martyn says, and that small but firm stamp of approval makes Phil happy in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.

-

“I can’t believe those bags are all you have,” Phil says.

They’ve relocated into the lounge. There still isn’t a lot of space for all of them but Martyn had no problem stretching himself out on the floor with one of the throw pillows from the sofa tucked under his head.

“Fits all we need,” Martyn says. His eyes are closed and Phil wonders if he’s going to fall right asleep. “Clothes. Toothbrush. Phone charger. Snacks.”

“Snacks,” Phil repeats, an approving tone to his voice.

Cornelia sits up abruptly. “Oh, Martyn, we still have the—”

Martyn cracks one eye open to look at her. “The stuff.”

“The stuff,” she says, clapping slightly. “Can we?”

“Um.” Martyn looks over at Phil and Dan. “I don’t know. Can we?”

“Can you what?” Phil asks.

Cornelia laughs. “I’m sorry. It’s the jetlag.”

“We’ve just been to Amsterdam,” Martyn says, like that should explain it.

Phil just sits there on the sofa blinking.

“Phil,” Dan says. Phil looks, and Dan holds up his thumb and forefinger to his mouth and inhales.

“Oh.”

“It’s just edibles,” Corn says. “Brownies, actually. Phil, you like brownies, don’t you?”

Dan snorts. Phil pushes his legs off the coffee table with his foot while Dan continues laughing at him.

“I don’t think Phil wants these brownies,” Martyn says, and that alone is enough to make up Phil’s mind.

“Actually I do.”

Now it’s Martyn’s turn to gape.

“It’s on his bucket list,” Dan offers.

“Your what now?” Martyn says.

“My boss,” Phil says. “Stevie. I was… well, I was in a bit of a state when I first moved here, wasn’t I?”

None of them are tactless enough to agree, so he continues. “She told me I had to make a list. I reckon she thought it would help. And she was right.”

“And you included drugs on this list?” Cornelia sounds incredulous but not judgmental.

“Yeah.” He holds up his wrist. “And this. And… other stuff.”

Martyn’s eyebrows shoot up and he and Cornelia share a look, but neither of them press for more details.

“I guess I put some stuff on there that I never actually thought I’d do, and now I’ve done some, and… it’s a nice feeling.” He shrugs. “They’re just brownies, yeah? No big deal.”

“No big deal,” Martyn echoes. “I’ll ask again: who are you and what have you done with my brother?”

He does feel nervous as Cornelia digs through her bag. He’s not sure if it comes through in his voice or not when he asks, “How did you get that through the airport?”

Martyn shrugs. “I actually forgot it was in there. Guess the drug sniffer pups were on break.” He gets to his feet and stretches his back. “Where’s the loo?”

Phil tells him. When Martyn’s gone the anxiety ratchets up a bit more. He makes the mistake of glancing at Dan, who is carefully studying him. “You know,” Dan says. “Maybe it’d be better if we wait until tonight? We can order dinner in and maybe get some snacks for later. Our cupboards are a bit bare, Phil and I were out of town this weekend.”

“Oh really?” Cornelia asks, intrigued. “Where did you go?”

Dan starts telling her all about the festival. He’s still talking about it when Martyn comes back in.

“Marty-roo, why don’t you ever take me to film festivals?” Cornelia asks, pouting at him.

He laughs and reaches down, stroking through her hair fondly. “We’ll have to find one. I’m sure we’ll stumble across one in Italy.”

“Is that where you’re going next?” Phil asks.

“Yep.” Martyn plops into the chair Cornelia vacated. “So are we going to get our intoxication on?”

“We’re going to wait until later,” Cornelia says. “Dan thought it’d be a better idea to have dinner and snacks first.”

“Wise,” Martyn says, nodding safely. “Munchies.”

Phil’s briefly racing heart calms back down with the knowledge that he’s not going to be getting high right now. It’s not that he doesn’t want to - he very much does. He just… needs some time for his brain to adjust.

And Dan knew that. Somehow.

Because Dan’s amazing like that.

When he looks down at his phone he already has a text waiting. _Hope that was ok._

 _More than okay,_ Phil responds back.

“If we’re just chilling here for a while I want a shower,” Martyn says.

Cornelia pops up. “Me first.”

Martyn groans. “What if we—”

“You’re not allowed to shower together,” Phil says.

“Why!”

“Because, ew.”

Martyn snickers. “Please, like I didn’t have to share that room with the double beds in Florida with you and Ben that time the rental place accidentally gave mum and dad the wrong house.”

“You didn’t hear anything!” Phil says, quietly mortified.

“Yeah, because I buggered off to sleep on the couch so you two could bug—”

“Oh my god!” Phil halfway shrieks. He looks over at Dan. “We really didn’t do anything, I promise.”

Dan has a weird look on his face but he still manages a laugh. “I mean, it’s alright if you did.”

“But we _didn’t_.” Phil’s heart starts going racy again.

He’s not sure why Martyn being here makes things feel so much stranger and more… real.

“You letting them have your room, Phil?” Dan asks.

“What? Oh, yeah, of course,” Phil says, jolting to his feet. “Come on, you can put your bags in here.”

He hears Dan’s door shut while he’s giving a miniature room tour to Martyn and Cornelia. He’s informed they’re also going to do laundry here. He tells them no problem and he’ll show them how the machine works once they’ve showered. They stay behind after he walks out to sort out clothes and find what’s clean they can change into for the day.

As soon as he leaves his own bedroom he walks right into Dan’s. “Fuck,” he says. “I didn’t knock.”

“You don’t need to knock this time,” Dan says softly, then frowns at him. “Phil, are you alright?”

“Yeah, I am, I’m just—” He stops and shuts his eyes briefly. It was his first instinct as a response, but it’s not really the truth. “Could use a hug, maybe.”

Dan laughs. It’s a quiet, warm, sweet sound. It’s a private sound. “C’mere.”

Phil steps into Dan’s space and lets Dan pull him in the rest of the way. Dan’s arms go around his shoulders, one hand cupping the back of Phil’s neck. Phil lays his cheek on Dan’s shoulder.

“Sometimes I really annoy myself,” he says quietly.

“It’s alright,” Dan tells him. “I’d feel weird if I suddenly had visitors when I hadn’t been expecting any. And they wanted me to consume mind altering substances.”

Phil shakes his head gently. “I’m happy to see them. And they’re not pressuring me into anything. I don’t want you to think that. They’re not like that, they wouldn’t want me to do it if I didn’t want to do it.”

“Phil, I’m not judging you. Or them. I’m just saying it’s okay if you feel weird.”

Phil lifts his head enough to press his chin into the knot of muscle between Dan’s neck and shoulder. “Do you feel weird?”

Dan still has a gentle grip on Phil’s neck, right at the bottom where it meets his spine. His hand is big and warm. “Maybe a little. A little nervous. A little sad that I don’t get to spend the day with you. With just you.”

Phil pulls back. “Yeah. Me too.”

“But it’s fine.” He gives Phil a smile. “I’m also really fucking excited to eat weed brownies with you and your brother. And Cornelia, she seems cool.”

Phil nods. “She’s a musician. You’re gonna love her.”

“And we’ll have alone time once they’re gone,” Dan says, voice gone a little lower. “Right?”

Phil could do it now. There isn’t a shred of doubt in his mind. He’s holding Dan in his arms, for Christ's sake. Their faces are only inches apart.

But his brother is the next room over, and Phil reckons if he let himself start, if he let himself go there, he wouldn’t want to stop. And he’s hoping Dan feels the same.

“Yes,” Phil all but whispers. “Definitely.”

“For now I’m going to charm the pants off your family,” Dan says with a grin.

Phil rolls his eyes. “You charmed Martyn before I ever even stepped foot in this goddamn flat.”

“Yeah, but I thought he was you.”

“I’m glad he’s not me,” Phil says. “I’m glad I’m me.”

“I’m very glad you’re you,” Dan agrees. “I wouldn’t want anyone else.” There’s a long pause. “To be you.”

Phil can’t help the giant sheepish grins that spreads across his face. “You’re an idiot.”

“Maybe. I didn’t get much sleep last night. Or the night before.”

Phil frowns. “Really?”

“It’s not bad,” Dan assures. “Just… there’s been a lot to think about, hasn’t there?”

Phil nods.

“I do have to get some writing done today, though,” Dan says reluctantly. “I really wish I didn’t.”

Phil pulls back a bit, resting his hands on Dan’s shoulder briefly. “Alright, then. You get some writing done. Mar and Cornelia want to shower and do some laundry, anyway.”

“And tonight we have fun?” Dan grins.

“Tonight we have fun.”

-

After their (separate) showers, Cornelia claims Phil’s bed for a nap. Dan pops out to make himself another coffee and update them on his progress.

“Should be done by six, I think,” he says. “Might be too late to get a grocery order in now, though.”

“I’ll go down to the store,” Phil offers. “I could do with a bit of a walk.”

“I’ll go with you.” Martyn slings his arm around Phil’s shoulder. “Some sibling time. Plus I told mum we’d face time her and we should probably get that out of the way before we partake of the lord’s special grass.”

“If you call it that I’m not going to eat it,” Phil warns him. “I can just hear our grandmother turning in her grave.”

Martyn slaps him between the shoulderblades. “I’m sure if she made it through mum’s rave phase then she had to deal with it already. The youth can’t shock her.”

“I can’t imagine mum doing anything like that.” Phil just shakes his head. “Anyway, yeah, we can go to the Tesco.”

Twenty minutes later they’re walking out of the shop holding a bag each. It’s twice what they’d need for even four people but Phil comes by his sweet tooth - and his salty tooth - honestly. Crisps and chocolates and popcorn and sour laces and Haribo and some vegan things for Dan that Phil will almost definitely eat at least half of…

It takes willpower for Phil not to nibble as they walk back. He distracts himself away from mild hunger by asking Martyn, “So mum really had you stop in?”

Martyn shrugs. “She brought it up. But I wanted to see my little bro, too. How’s it been?”

Phil knows Martyn’s asking in a different way than he had before. He tries to answer honestly, to resist the urge to deflect. “It’s been good. Different, but good.”

“Sometimes different is what we need.”

“Yeah,” Phil agrees. “I guess we all needed that, eh? Even mum.”

“I think so. We all needed to go away and be different for a while.”

Phil nods. “I might want to stay different.”

“Yeah?”

He shrugs. “I like it here. I like doing things I would never have done before. I like—”

“Dan?” Martyn asks.

“Oh, piss off.”

“What?” Martyn seems genuinely surprised. “I just assumed— He looked dead jealous when I mentioned Ben. Are you lot not together?”

Phil doesn’t know what to say. He could say that they are. He could say that they aren’t. Both are true.

And both are untrue.

Phil shakes his head. He and Dan, the way they exist at this moment - they’re a liminal space. Like a waiting room. Or a crackle in the air before a thunderstorm.

“I can’t talk about it,” Phil says. It’s the most honest answer he can give without betraying the trust Dan has put in him.

Martyn lifts his eyebrows, but bless him, he doesn’t argue. “Fair enough.” Then he says, “I want to stay different too.”

Phil smiles. “You and Corn seem really happy.”

“We are. Not always, but… more.”

“Yeah.” Phil looks down at the bolt of lighting inked into his skin. “It’s always going to be there, innit? The missing him. Feeling like a little piece of ourselves is missing.”

Martyn slings his arm around Phil’s shoulders - which is a bit awkward as Phil is decidedly taller - and says, “You’re not supposed to get all deep and philosophical until after you’ve done the drugs.”

Phil laughs. “Well, I’ve never done it before, I don’t know the rules, I guess.”

“Good thing big brother is here to teach you.” Martyn lets his arms drop. “I’m surprised you didn’t do things like this in uni, though. That’s where I sewed the wild oats and lost my fear of mum psychically knowing when I was doing something she didn’t know about.”

Phil shrugs. “I reckon I still went through that, it was just a little different for me. The um… the liking blokes thing, that’s felt like enough for me, didn’t need to add to it with anything else.”

“Fair enough,” Martyn says, frowning.

Phil knows from conversations they’ve had over the years that Martyn still feels bad Phil didn’t feel comfortable enough to come out to him. Phil could never really make Martyn understand that it wasn’t a personal failing, just that Phil only had so much energy to do so much worrying over the years. Telling his family he was gay was just in a box he shut and locked and buried the key for.

He thinks of Dan then, and Dan’s own struggle. Phil knows even though his teen years might have been a wash romantically that he was lucky enough to get most of his twenties to sort it out and get to know himself.

His first relationship was a big part of that. Ben was a big part of that.

Phil may be that for Dan. It’s equal parts terrifying and elating. If he’s Dan’s first proper boyfriend - if they get that far, if things work out - then he can make sure Dan gets at least that good experience.

“Did I lose you?” Martyn asks.

“Oh.” Phil jumps slightly, then has to move quickly to avoid a lamp post. “Sorry. Just in my head.”

“I can tell,” Martyn says. “Because we’re about to walk past your building.”

Phil turns on his heels and tries to pretend (for any imaginary observers) that it’s not him that Martyn is laughing at.

-

Brownies are delicious.

Why isn’t he always eating brownies?

Also, Cornelia smells good. Like, really good. He leans his head down on her shoulder and noses right into her neck. Just to check.

Yep, still smells good.

She shrieks and giggles and cringes away. Martyn laughs.

Dan laughs too. A lot. He’s very smiley tonight. Very smiley and rosy and dimpled in the cheek area and crinkled in the corners of his eyes.

Phil gets up from where he’s been sat between his brother and his brother’s lover on the sofa that isn’t quite big enough for four and walks over to where Dan is sat on the floor. He sits next to him and pokes his finger right into the dimple and says, “I like this little bloke.”

He feels heavy and warm all over. And the tips of his fingers tingle when he stops to think about it.

“You’re ridiculous,” Dan murmurs. His voice is dripping with fondness. Even in the state Phil finds himself, he can discern it.

“What’s his name?” Phil asks.

Dan answers without missing a beat. “Derek.”

“Oh, I like that.”

“Phil!” Cornelia laughs some more. “You only had like three bites!”

“What?” Phil feigns innocence. “I’m just admiring Derek, I’m allowed. He’s my mate.”

Martyn is shaking his head, grinning from ear to ear.

Phil turns his attention back to Dan’s lovely face. “Am I being weird?”

“You’re always weird, Phil.”

“Why are you all so much better at doing drugs than me?”

“Dan only had one bite,” Martyn points out.

“It’s not vegan!” Dan half shouts.

Phil’s first thought is to ask Dan if he’d be more tempted eating it off of Phil’s naked body, but he has enough self preservation left in his brain to hold that one in.

“You should have one more bite,” Phil says, pouting his lower lip out instead. “For me?”

“I will,” Dan says. “Put your bloody face away. I just know the first time I had edibles I ate three entire cookies thinking it wasn’t working and then they all kicked in at once. I thought I was literally going to die.”

“Oh my god, Dan!” Phil both laughs and also clutches at Dan’s arm like he’s concerned for Dan’s safety now, in this moment, for something he did an untold number of years ago.

Dan does take another bite - a big one, at Phil’s instruction - and then slumps comfortably back against the floor.

“The first time I smoked a joint I was fourteen,” Cornelia said. “I thought I could sing like an angel.”

“You can,” Martyn says, ever ready to uplift her.

“You’re darling.” She pats his cheek. “But that night I could not. A friend of mine recorded some of it and I couldn’t believe the sound coming out of my mouth when I heard it played back. It sounded like two cats fighting for territory.”

Martyn snickers. “I’m sure it was a beautiful feline symphony, though.”

“That’s how I sing when I’m completely sober,” Phil says.

“He’s right,” Dan agrees. “I can hear him in the shower.”

“No you cannot!” Phil grabs a pillow and fwacks Dan on the arm, like it’s Dan’s fault that Phil has no volume control.

“Britney Spears.” Dan’s voice is deadpan but his eyes are certainly not.

“I hate you.” Phil covers his head with his hands. He’s not actually embarrassed, but he pretends harder when Dan grabs his arms and pulls them. He doesn’t want Dan to stop touching him. His skin tingles a bit more.

“You’re definitely high,” Martyn says, and only then does Phil realize he said some of that out loud.

He didn’t think that was a thing that was actually possible. He thought it was only something people did in movies.

“I need to tell Stevie,” he declares, already moving to pull his phone from his pocket. As if to prove Martyn’s point, he has a lot of difficulty even with a task that simple. His fingers feel like they don’t belong to him, like they don’t want to do what his brain is telling them. He gets a few shoved into his pocket but they can’t seem to get the mobile slid out, and eventually he collapses backwards onto the floor. “Help,” he croaks.

And then Dan helps him. He puts his hand in Phil’s pocket and Phil’s body explodes on the inside. He very nearly reaches up and grabs Dan by the back of the neck to yank him down and have his way. Perhaps the only reason he doesn’t is that Dan puts the phone in his hand first.

“Here. You bloody disaster. Don’t hurt yourself.” Then he flops back too, so they’re laid out on the wood floor beside each other.

Phil likes it like this. He likes not being able to see Martyn taking the piss.

He hands the phone back to Dan. “Find her in my contacts, yeah? My eyes don’t work.” He accidentally drops his phone on Dan’s stomach. “Fingers either, apparently.”

Dan plucks it up and finds her number right away, putting it on speaker and laying it back on his stomach. They all listen, waiting.

“Bonjour, Monsieur Lester,” Stevie crows after a couple rings, exaggerating her accent enormously. “With what can I help you on this fine evening? Are you back in town?”

“I’m high,” Phil announces. Even he can tell his voice is too loud.

“You aren’t.”

“I are. I mean am.”

Dan snickers. Phil knocks their knees together. “Shut up.”

“How dare,” Stevie says.

“No, I was talking to Dan.”

“Dan? Is he high too?”

“Yeah,” Dan says to his belly. “Peer pressure: it works!”

“Oi, I did not.” Phil knocks his knee again. “Don’t listen to him!” he says in the direction of Dan’s belly button. “He’s got that reefer madness!”

Everyone in the room starts laughing. Loudly. Phil’s phone slides off Dan’s stomach, and Phil delights in having to reach between them to pick it up. If he touches Dan a little more than he needs to, Dan isn’t complaining.

“It sounds like a party!” Stevie says.

“My brother is here. And his better half.”

“Oi!” Martyn shouts.

Phil ignores him. “Stevie, Stevie. I did it. I did another thing on the list, are you proud?”

“Mon chou, I’m absolutely bursting with pride. We’re going to have to start adding more. We’ve been slacking.”

“What else is even left?” Phil muses. “A piercing maybe?” He turns to Dan. “Think I’d suit a lip ring?”

Dan’s eyes are kind of heavy lidded. He looks so deliciously warm and relaxed. “Yeah,” he says, and his voice is a bit lower than normal. “Reckon that’d be really hot.”

“Stevie, make me an appointment,” Phil demands.

“I’m going to assume it’s la mauvaise herbe leading you to believe that I’m your personal assistant,” Stevie says amiably. “And allow you to retract that request tomorrow. Now if you’ll excuse me, you’ve been an inspiration, I’m going to partake myself.”

Phil’s still trying to repeat la mauvaise herbe aloud.

“I’ll pass that along to Phil when he lands back on planet earth,” Dan says.

The call must end. Phil loses a few seconds, he thinks, still chasing French phrases with his tongue. His phone drops to the side, forgotten.

“I can’t imagine Phil with a piece,” Martyn says.

“You couldn’t imagine him with a tattoo either.”

“Could do one up here, too.” Dan traces a finger over Phil’s eyebrow.

It’s good the phone call is over because Phil officially can’t focus on anything besides Dan.

-

They talk about putting on a movie but in the end all they do is sit around and talk. Conversation is broken by fits of giggles but once the brownies are gone the feeling doesn’t crest anymore, it settles into something warm and nice, like a blanket covering his body.

They hear stories about all the places Martyn and Cornelia have been, and share a few of their own. Dan bonds with both of them over music festival stories Phil’s never heard, nicer ones that he doesn’t seem to mind sharing.

At one point Cornelia sings - beautifully, of course - and Martyn joins in with makeshift drums. It makes Phil want to cry and he puts his head on Dan’s shoulder just to try and cope with the feeling.

It doesn’t seem very late at all when Martyn finally yawns, but Phil’s shocked to find it’s past one in the morning.

“When did it get late?”

“It’s not,” Dan says immediately.

Martyn yawns again. Cornelia stands up and tugs on his hands to pull him up. “It is for us,” she says.

“Only because you were partying it up all night in Amsterdam, I reckon,” Phil pouts. He’s not sure he’s ready for the night to be over, especially since he has to sleep on the sofa. It’s not that it’s not comfortable, it’s just… not a bed. And anyway, he’s been enjoying the pillow he’s made of Dan’s shoulder. He’s been enjoying the utter relaxation of a low level high.

He could fall asleep in minutes. He just doesn’t want to.

“We’re old, Phil,” Cornelia says.

Phil rolls his eyes. “I’m the elderly one in this family and we all know it.”

“Not today, mate!” Martyn says, walking over to where Phil is still sat on the floor and reaching a hand out to help him up. “Today you were a bloody teenager!”

As soon as Phil’s stood up, he turns around and holds his hand out for Dan’s. “Are you tired?”

“I could stay up for a bit,” he says, smiling lazily, letting Phil pull him up. “If that’s what you’re asking.”

Phil nods. His and Dan’s fingers are laced together. “Film?” he asks.

Martyn clears his throat and Phil jumps just a little bit. How quickly he’d managed to forget that he and Dan aren’t alone.

“Well, we’re off,” Martyn says. “Goodnight, lads.” He gives them a little salute.

Phil waves. Dan nods.

From somewhere down the hall, Cornelia screeches.

“What!” Phil shouts, alarmed.

“Philip!” She’s laughing. “What is this painting above your bed!”

Phil looks at Dan, and they both dissolve into a fit of giggles.

“Changed my mind,” Phil shouts back. “Too tired to respond. Asleep already, actually!”

Then he shouts a snore as well.

Cornelia pokes her head out of the door. “You look very awake for someone sleeping. Fine, though - keep your secrets, younger Lester. I’ll just ask you again in the morning when you’ve not excuse!”

“She’s great,” Dan says, after she goes back into the bedroom.

“But I’m better, right?” Phil asks.

“For me, personally? Yeah.” Dan squeezes the hand of Phil’s that he’s still holding.

“Don’t know if that’s a compliment or not.” Phil starts to say more but then yawns. When it ends he says, “Oh.” like he doesn’t actually know where it came from.

“Not sleepy yet, hmm.” Dan pokes his side. “I sense a lie.”

“Not sleepy,” Phil argues. “Just…”

He doesn’t know the word for it. Heavy and warm and swirly and calm and like he could just rest his head… fuck, he realizes. There is a word for it. The word is sleepy.

“Mhm.”

“Don’t want to say goodnight,” Phil says. He pulls his hand from Dan’s only to cup his shoulder.

“Then don’t.” Dan’s smiling at him but his eyes look so deep and serious. “You don’t want to sleep on that couch anyway, do you?”

“No. I don’t.”

“I’ve got a bed with our name on it.”

Warmth spills down the inside of Phil’s body. “Yeah?”

“Hell yeah.”

“What if my brother gets up in the night for a wee and sees that I’m not on the sofa? He’ll assume I’m with you.”

“I literally don’t care. You will be with me.”

Phil can’t help leaning into Dan’s space and pushing his forehead against the side of Dan’s neck. “Are you sure?” he whispers.

He feels Dan nod.

“Well… I would really like that.”

Dan tugs him gently. “Let’s go to bed, you berk.”

It’s no less affecting than it was in the woods. Those words could keep Phil warm all winter long, he reckons. Not that it’s winter now.

His brain’s not working properly anymore. All it’s got room for is warm happy high smiley curly dimple Dan.

Dan’s room is lit all warm and golden from the fairy lights on the headboard. It’s neat and tidy and pleasantly plain and now that Phil’s stood here he’s suddenly very, very nervous.

He’s wearing jeans. They both are.

Dan might be able to read his mind. “Need something to sleep in?” he asks.

Phil nods.

Dan rifles through a drawer for a few seconds then tosses Phil a t-shirt. “You’ve got pants on, right?”

Phil nearly chokes. “Yeah, I mean - yeah. Of course.”

Dan shrugs. “Dunno. You could be free-balling it.”

Hearing Dan talk about his balls, even in such a round about way, sends all the blood in Phil’s body in one directly - to his face, as he blushes. “I’m not.”

“So you can just wear that. Or don’t. I’m going to brush my teeth.”

Or don’t.

Phil can’t handle that. He can’t even go there. So he puts on the shirt.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed when Dan comes back. His legs are long and pale and bare of the jeans he’d been wearing before, and he looks relaxed and happy.

And shirtless.

Phil decides to try not to focus on that bit. “Are you happy?” he asks.

Dan smiles at him. “Yeah, reckon so. I mean, that was some good shit your brother had. I still feel… loose.”

“Loose is a good word for it.”

“Yeah? That how you feel too?” Dan waits until Phil nods. “So you had a nice time? Nothing traumatic?”

While he’s talking Dan pulls the duvet back and slides those long legs underneath it. Phil follows his lead and then they’re in bed together again. He shuffles back until he’s comfortable. “Yeah, it was really nice. I don’t know that I’m going to go full Lebowski any time soon - and I don’t think the smell is very pleasant so I still don’t want to smoke it. But I’d do that again.”

“Good,” Dan says. He reaches out and traces his finger down Phil’s arm.

Phil shivers.

“Still feeling it?”

“Apparently so.” Phil’s eyes close a bit.

“That’s one of the things I liked most about being high,” Dan says. “Just having someone touch me. Didn’t have to be anything, you know. Just platonic. But being touched… felt fucking unreal.”

Phil reaches over, splaying his hand wider and rubbing down Dan’s arm.

Dan inhales deeply. “Yeah.”

“I have a secret,” Phil says quietly.

Dan’s eyes are closed. “What’s that?”

He turns Dan’s arm over so his wrist is exposed, tracing over the lines of his tattoo with a feather light touch. “It’s not platonic,” he whispers.

He watches Dan’s chest rise with another deep breath. “Fuck, Phil.”

Phil doesn’t apologize. He doesn’t think Dan wants him to. He just keeps running his fingers up and down Dan’s arm.

Until Dan catches his hand and brings it up to his mouth and kisses Phil’s knuckles. “It’s not for me either.”

“I know,” Phil whispers.

“Your fingers are magic.”

Phil smiles. “Your skin is soft. And warm, you’re always so warm.”

Dan shuffles in a little closer, half laid on his front. Phil’s hand restarts its gentle exploration of Dan’s body, this time running up and down his back, over the bumps of his spine and across the blades of his shoulders.

Dan hides his face in his pillow, his skin pricked with goosebumps. He looks golden under the fairy lights.

“Next time we can do this while we’re still really feeling it,” Phil says. “Next time it can be just us.”

Dan moans. He actually moans.

Phil wants to bottle the sound and keep it forever.

“Yeah,” Dan says. “Please.”

“You’re so warm,” Phil says again.

“Your hands feel so good,” Dan answers. “They should be illegal.”

“You should be illegal.” Phil’s breathing is evening out, taking on the deepness that comes as his body settles against a mattress, but he never wants this to end.

Dan shuffles over again. “Can I?”

“Yeah,” Phil says. He understands the gist of the question, if not the exact specifics of it.

The specifics are this: Dan with his head on Phil’s shoulder, one arm across Phil’s middle. Bodies meeting at the middle of the mattress, space and intimacy shared.

Dan’s weight is heavy on his, only partially so but enough. Enough that he can say he’s got Dan in his arms for a second time today.


	29. Chapter 29

*

*

The first thing Stevie does when he walks into the shop is thwap him on the head with a rolled up magazine. It’s one of the art ones with heavy, glossy pages that shouldn’t roll up so tightly but she’s determined - she pulls it off. 

“Ow!” Phil tries to duck away from her, darting behind the counter. “What’s that for!” 

She starts ticking items off using her fingers. “Slagging off work to go to a music festival _without inviting me_. Getting high for the first time _without me_. Making it with your fit flatmate without—”

“If you say _without me_ , I’m stealing that magazine and turning it on you,” he warns. 

“Making it with your fit flatmate without _telling me_ ,” she amends. 

“That last one didn’t happen!” He laughs. 

“Like I’m meant to believe that? Two blokes in a tent, I’ve seen that film.” 

Phil almost snorts his coffee out of his nose. “We weren’t in bloody Brokeback Mountain! That film ends horribly anyway. But I am sorry I didn’t invite you over for the drugs. My brother and his girlfriend showed up unexpectedly and they’d just come from Amsterdam. It was just a coincidence that they had it with them.” 

“Don’t you love it when the universe aligns?” She beams at him. “Mon petit chou, he’s growing up on me.” 

Phil rolls his eyes. “Anyway,” he says pointedly, and as if summoned the first customer of the day walks in. 

It’s not long before the customer has been helped and the shop is empty again, which means Stevie is free to corner Phil and demand more details about the not Brokeback situation. 

“You can tell me to fuck off if you really don’t want to talk about it,” she says after he chews his lip instead of answering her fairly simple question. “But I thought for sure after my party you’d be shacked up by now.”

He can’t help smiling. “It’s… we’re…” He looks at her helplessly. “I can’t.”

She nods. “Fine, fine. I’ll have you know this is _killing_ me.”

“I don’t doubt it.” He drains the rest of his coffee and tosses the cup in the bin. He misses, sending it bouncing off the rim and rolling onto the floor. She rolls her eyes and goes to chuck it away properly. When she stands back up, he looks at her and says, “I’m happy. I can tell you that.”

“I can tell.” She reaches up and strokes her thumb over his cheekbone. “It’s such a good look on you, Phil.”

He pushes her away, jokingly but also not. “Don’t make me emotional.”

“Mais pourquoi? It’s my favourite thing to do.”

“I know but you’ve seen me cry too many times already.”

She hops backwards up onto the counter. “That’s how I knew for sure I was right about you. When you cried in front of me.”

He leans back against the wall, stood across from her with his arms folded. “Most people would have found it unsettling.”

“I’m not most people.”

He smiles. “That you aren’t.”

She opens her legs so she can reach between them and down to grab up the notebook she keeps his list in. “If you’re not going to tell me about your maybe boyfriend, we’re going to work on this.”

He laughs and then bends to her strong suggestion that he do the honors of marking a couple of things off himself. He draws a mark through the tattoo, something he hadn’t gotten around to before, and then through the line about getting high. He scans it to see if there are any additional ones that he needs to resolve right now, but finds none. 

“Should we add more?” she asks, excited by the prospect. 

“Sure,” he agrees, but after a moment lets out a surprised sound. “I can’t actually think of anything else.”

“You have achieved mortal bliss through some ink and recreational marijuana?” she teases. 

“Not exactly,” he says. “But it’s more like… I dunno. Bucket lists are supposed to have big things on them, right? I’m not sure if I have any more big things I really want to accomplish right now. Maybe I’m more of a small-things kinda guy. Shut up, not like that. I just mean - I think I’m happy right now, is all. There are still things I want to do, but I don’t know if I need to make it a mission anymore.” 

“Phil.” Her smile is warm and proud. She rips it out of the notebook and hands it to him. “Then the list has served its purpose, and it is yours to complete when you feel like your life needs a bit more raison d’etre.”

“Hey,” Phil says, excited. “That one I know!” 

She laughs. “Of course you do.” 

“Really though… I kept thinking about it while Martyn was talking about their upcoming trips before he left this morning. He’s always been about adventure and wanting to do things like be a DJ and play for crowds of people. Cornelia’s the same. They want to travel and have all these new experiences and see the world. It’s what makes them happy. I think what makes me happy is having a job I like and a nice…um, a nice flat to go home to at the end of the day.” 

Stevie snickers. “Your flat is very nice, I’m glad you enjoy going home to it.” 

“Shut up,” Phil says. “You know what I mean.” 

“I do.” She cups his cheek again. Her fingers are small and warm. “And it makes me happy for you, love. You are learning the most important subject; you’re learning yourself.” 

-

When Phil gets home, the flat smells of food. He can’t put his finger on what it is, exactly, but it makes his mouth water right away. He kicks off his shoes and practically skips to the kitchen.

Dan is there, stood over the stove. He looks the same as always, dark blue jumper with the sleeves pushed up, slightly frizzed curls, wooden spoon in his hand. Devastatingly gorgeous. 

He looks up and smiles at Phil. “You’re home.”

“You’re cooking.”

“I am. I sat on my ass all day writing. Forgot to eat.”

Phil clicks his tongue. “The little Kath that lives on my shoulder is appalled.”

“Tell her I’m trying to make it up to her by cooking like a good boy instead of ordering takeaway.”

“What are we having?” Phil asks, trying to get a peek at whatever is in the steaming pot.

“Spicy peanut noodles,” Dan says. “You don’t like mushrooms, do you?”

It makes Phil warm that Dan remembered that. Even if he is annoyed at himself for being a picky eater. “Not really, but it’s okay.”

Dan waves his hand. “We’ll just leave those out of yours.”

“You should have waited for me,” Phil says, stepping in a little closer. He can’t help it. He’s drawn to Dan like a magnet. “Could’ve done it together, like we said.”

Dan looks at him with a devilish expression and Phil feels the blood rush to his face. 

“Cooked together,” he squeaks. “We could’ve cooked together.”

Dan shakes his head, smiling as he looks down the noodles he’s got boiling, and the pan of sauce next to it. “I wanted it to be ready when you got home.”

Phil presses his shoulder against Dan’s. He can’t find any words at the moment. This fondness, these feelings… they’re reaching a boiling point. He feels like he’s going to spill over any minute. It’s a feat to keep it contained at this point. He can practically taste it on the back of his tongue, and being close to Dan, smelling his cologne or shampoo or whatever it is, seeing the pink of his cheeks, hearing him make his own little confessions of care and affection - all of it. It’s starting to drive Phil mad. 

“It smells good,” Phil says softly. “What can I do?”

“Go get changed into something comfy,” Dan says. “Should be done when you get back.”

He’s smiling all the way through stripping off his work clothes. He puts on comfy pajama bottoms, not the garish ones that Dan always makes fun of, and then dips into the bathroom just to check his reflection out. 

He needs to touch up his hair soon, the roots are going a bit ginger. He’s already decided he wants to keep the black for a while. He sees the lines around his eyes and even the strand or two of gray showing up through the black, but he finds himself not minding it. 

It doesn’t feel like the same face that stared back at him in that house in Manchester those last few months. But it feels like him. 

He washes his hands quickly and walks back into the kitchen. Dan’s plating up already. “I could have done something!” Phil protests. 

“You can go pick out something for us to watch,” Dan says. 

He doesn’t even stop to ask Phil if that’s what he wants to do, because watching while they eat is just their thing now. It’s their routine and Phil loves that they have one. 

Phil wanders into Dan’s bedroom. The door was open and he’s feeling in the mood for something light and happy to match the way he feels. There is one thing that always fits that for him, but he picks out a movie option just in case that’s what Dan had his heart set on. 

He walks out holding a box. “Ten Things I Hate About You, or Buffy?” 

“Buffy,” Dan says. “I’ve seen that film.” 

Phil gasps. “Without me?” 

“Before you,” Dan corrects. “Come on, Heath Ledger in that vest? Heath Ledger crooning his heart out? Just— Heath Ledger?” 

“I’m making you rewatch it with me some time,” Phil shouts out as he puts the VHS tape back on Dan’s shelf. “Just so you know.” When he walks back out Dan’s putting two steaming bowls of noodles down. “That smells amazing.” 

“Of course it does,” Dan says. “I made it.” He sits on the sofa and Phil puts the right disk in the DVD player before joining him.

When he does, he sits closer than he needs to, bumping Dan’s shoulder with his. “Thank you. For making it.”

Dan shrugs. “Not a big deal.”

“It’s nice.” He nudges Dan again and waits for Dan to look at him. “It’s nice and you’re nice and I’m trying to appreciate you, so just… let me.”

Dan smiles. “Alright.”

“Alright.”

“Can we eat now? I’m genuinely starving.”

They eat. Phil slurps just to annoy Dan. Dan steals a noodle from his bowl and slurps louder. Phil does his level best not to look at Dan’s mouth.

He fails, but it’s a noble effort. He’ll give himself that much credit at least. 

Once empty, the bowls are abandoned to the coffee table. Phil turns out the lights. They finish one episode. Dan tucks his legs to the side of himself and leans the opposite way, right into Phil. Phil lifts his arm and lets it come down to rest around the back of Dan’s neck.

Every bone in his body, every muscle, every fiber is soft and tired and relaxed. If he didn’t know better he might assume that Dan had figured out how to make noodles into marijuana edibles. He feels the same heavy tingling warmth he felt last night. It pulls him down into the cushions of the sofa and has him rubbing circles into Dan’s shoulder.

“You tired?” Dan asks.

Phil shakes his head. In a way he is, but he feels like he could sit here forever if Dan let him. The Buffy theme song is playing and he’s got a very special person leaning their head against his shoulder and all is right with the world.

Dan seems to agree. “This is nice,” he says softly, and Phil’s face acts of its own accord. He turns toward Dan and presses a kiss right to the center of his forehead.

Then he freezes, because Dan has lifted his head up off Phil’s shoulder. They’re staring at each other. Phil must have pushed a little too far.

But Dan’s eyes flick down to Phil’s mouth and stay there and Phil is drowning in a pool of warmth and want and Dan is so close and getting closer. His face is bathed in light from the tv and he’s looking at Phil’s mouth until he isn’t - until he can’t. His eyes are closed.

His lips are on Phil’s. It’s not tentative. It’s gentle, and slow, but nothing about Dan’s kiss makes Phil feel like he doesn’t want it. What he feels is the relief of certainty. His own, but mostly Dan’s. Dan kissed him. Dan is kissing him.

His lips are chapped. They frame Phil’s perfectly, like they’ve done this a thousand times. Phil hopes they’ll do it a thousand times. He hopes they never stop. Dan shifts his body so Phil’s arm slips off his shoulders and down onto his back. Then he reaches up and slides his hand around the back of Phil’s neck.

He doesn’t want to stop either. His fingers are warm and his mouth is warmer and something comes over Phil then that erases all rational thought. Everything is Dan kissing him. Everything is knowing that Dan wants him too.

They pause briefly, maybe for breath or maybe just to let the moment catch up to them. “Hi,” Phil whispers giddily, still close enough that he can feel the brush of Dan’s mouth against his when he speaks. 

“Hi,” Dan whispers back. Phil’s eyes open enough to see that Dan’s are closed still and he’s smiling. 

Fuck, Phil loves that smile. He put that smile there. He owns this iteration of it. 

This time he’s the one who initiates, kissing uneven at first and adjusting fluidly. Dan’s mouth opens slightly under his own and it deepens in a way that makes Phil’s stomach squirm. He sighs into it and this… this may be the most perfect first kiss to ever happen. 

Maybe he’s biased. 

But he doesn’t care. 

He doesn’t care about anything as long as this doesn’t stop. 

And then he feels the faintest brush of Dan’s tongue, and he reckons he shouldn’t have to be held responsible for the noise he makes in the back of his throat. Apparently it’s not an issue, because Dan makes a noise to match. 

It makes Phil feel bold. He parts his lips a touch wider and Dan seems to know exactly what he’s after, because a moment later the brush of tongues is mutual.

It’s been so long since Phil kissed someone like this. He’d forgotten how searingly intimate it can be. How everything else in the world just stops, how every feelgood hormone his body can produce rises right to the surface and makes him feel high. 

This is better, though. It’s better than being high, and it’s better than any kiss he’s ever had before. 

He pulls away, just enough to move his mouth to form words, but not so far that their lips aren’t touching. “Are you okay?”

It’s really a stupid question. Probably a buzzkill. Definitely unsexy. But Dan smiles. Like, really smiles. “Yeah.”

“You’re a really good kisser.”

Dan is still smiling when he presses his lips to Phil’s. “So are you.”

“I wanna kiss you forever.”

“Me too.” He very gently drags his nails up the nape of Phil’s neck and into his hair.

Phil shivers, full on. It would be humiliating if Dan didn’t immediately kiss him hard and deep, deeper than before, licking properly into his mouth.

Phil doesn’t know what to do with his hands. One is pressed to Dan’s back and the other is a dead weight at his side. He lifts it, somehow still tentative despite all the evidence pointing to Dan being incredibly receptive to being touched by Phil. The moment his fingers brush Dan’s cheek, whatever minute amount of hesitation left between them vanishes. 

Dan gets up on his knees, and before Phil understands what’s happening, Dan hitches a leg over Phil’s hips to sit in his lap. Phil isn’t entirely sure he isn’t having an aneurysm, but Dan kisses him so hard his head tips back into the sofa cushion, so who the fuck really cares? Dan is holding Phil’s face with both hands. He’s kissing him like he thinks he’ll never get another shot at it.

Is that what he thinks? That it’s a one time deal?

Phil pushes very lightly on Dan’s chest, fisting his hand in the material of Dan’s jumper when Dan tries to pull away. Phil doesn’t want him to leave, he just wants to look at his face.

Christ, he’s got the most gorgeous face. His lips are shiny and pink. Actually, his whole face is pink. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Phil murmurs, like a lovesick idiot. He can’t help himself. 

Dan smoothes a few strands of hair off Phil’s forehead. “Speak for yourself.”

Phil kisses him again. He can’t help that either. “Should we talk?” he whispers.

Dan takes Phil’s glasses off his face and rather unceremoniously tosses them into the corner of the sofa that isn’t currently being occupied. “We can. Later.”

Phil nods. He can’t look away from Dan’s face. They’re so close that the view isn’t even blurry. 

“I just—” Dan presses his forehead against Phil’s. “It took me so bloody long to let myself do this. I don’t want to fuck it up.”

“You won’t,” Phil says. He tilts his head slightly, nose sliding up alongside Dan’s. “You couldn’t.”

“Just kiss me. Please?”

Phil kisses him. Softly. Sweetly. “I would’ve waited,” he whispers. “I can still wait.”

Dan shakes his head. “Fucking sick of waiting.”

Phil laughs. “And I’m the impatient one?” 

“Well,” Dan says. His curls tickle Phil’s forehead. “Yeah.” 

Phil would surely have a good comeback for that if not for the fact that he’s lost in another kiss, the kind that goes on and on and on. It’s one kiss and a dozen kisses and a hundred kisses all melted and merged together and somehow in the midst of them Phil’s hands find their confidence. 

He strokes up and down the soft material of Dan’s jumper then underneath it. Dan makes a little noise, one of surprise, at the cool touch of Phil’s fingers on his skin but it’s chased away by another, needier one. 

Phil isn’t trying to get Dan naked, he just can’t resist the warmth of that skin and feeling it against his fingers. 

Dan has other ideas, though. He leans back again and his fingers toy with the bottom of the jumper. “I don’t want to talk tonight.” 

Phil’s heart hammers. “Okay.” 

“I don’t know what else I want to do, either. Maybe nothing.” 

“Dan.” Phil reaches up and cups Dan’s cheeks, just… touching. “It’s okay.” 

“Fuck,” Dan swears. It’s not an angry sound, it’s a wondrous one. “Don’t know how I got this lucky.” 

“I’m the lucky one,” Phil says. The fondness and affection are spilling over. He can’t contain them. 

“I want to look at you.” 

“You can look at me.” 

“I want to touch you.” 

“Dan, you can touch me.” 

“I want to eat you the fuck alive.” 

“We can negotiate that kink.” 

“Idiot. Fucking idiot.” Dan yanks his jumper over his head and then leans down and kisses Phil hard again. 

“I mean it, though,” Phil says, between kisses. His lips are growing numb. He loves it. “I don’t need anything from you tonight besides this. Don’t need anything ever besides this.” 

“I don’t know what I need. Like, ever. It’s an affliction.” 

“I think you need to kiss me more.” Phil wraps his arms around Dan’s hips and pulls him forward until Dan loses his balance and half crashes into Phil. He laughs and pulls himself back up but Phil's mouth follows in a needy chase. 

“I changed my mind,” Dan says, not even bothering to move his mouth off Phil’s. “I need you. That’s like, the one thing I know for sure.”

“Dan,” Phil breathes. “You can’t say that.”

“Why? Can I not have you?”

“You can. You already have me. I just don’t know if I can handle this.”

Dan pulls back a little. “Are you being literal or hyperbolic?”

Phil laughs and tugs Dan in again, landing a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Hyperbolic. Definitely.” He keeps kissing indiscriminately, along Dan’s jaw and down to his neck. 

Dan says, “Oh god,” and goes stiff.

Phil decides he doesn’t need to keep asking for Dan’s reassurance. He knows that was a good Oh god. So he does it again, presses his lips to the side of Dan’s throat like he’s fantasized about for ages. Dan arches. Phil kisses more. He licks. Sucks, even. 

“Fuck,” Dan says. It’s emphatic. It’s sexy as fuck and Phil was right, he definitely can’t handle it. He can’t handle any of this. He’d like to go on handling it badly for the rest of the night and the rest of forever. The sofa is his home now, and Dan’s home is right here in Phil’s lap, with no shirt on and his neck stretched out long and pale and soft and pink where Phil sucks little marks into it.

Eventually he moves down to mouth at Dan’s collarbone. Dan is breathing hard enough that his chest heaves a little with every inhale. Phil is instantly addicted. 

“You’re going to kill me,” Dan says.

“Yeah, well. I’m already dead.”

“Just from kissing my neck?”

Phil closes his teeth very gently over the jut of bone. “You don’t understand how much time I’ve spent thinking about kissing your neck.”

“Shut up, you’re not allowed,” Dan says. “I saw you practically fucking _naked_. I’ve never wanted to take an actual bite out of someone’s ass before.” 

“I was wearing pants,” Phil tries to argue, but he sounds too pleased for it to really work. 

“Yeah, that you must have painted on. Your ass gave me a fucking sexuality crisis.” 

“Dan!” He’s trying not to laugh now, but since Dan is smiling he doesn’t think it’s too bad. “I didn’t mean to. I felt really bad that day.” 

“Wasn’t bad,” Dan says, then lets out a long shuddery breath as Phil licks over where he’d just been biting lightly at. “I needed it. Sometimes that’s how it goes, you know? You need to have an absolute shit fit over something before things make sense. Usually the more I panic and lash out about something, the more worth it it ends up being.”

“If you say so,” Phil says. He pulls his mouth away so he can look Dan in the eye. “I’d rather you not have to panic about anything related to me though.” 

“Don’t worry,” Dan says, running his fingers through Phil's hair and pushing it back from his forehead. “I think I have most of that worked out of my system.” 

“Good. But we can take our time, just in case.” 

“Fuck.” Dan swears again then leans in and kisses Phil. “Yeah. We’ll go slow. Now take your shirt off.” 

Phil bursts out with laughter. “That’s not slow!” 

“We can be slow while shirtless,” Dan says. 

“Fine.” Phil shifts around and lets Dan tug the shirt over his head. “Stop looking at me.” 

“No. I want to look at you.” Dan rubs his palms over Phil’s shoulders and down as far as the angle of their bodies will allow. “Want to touch you, remember?” 

“I want you to kiss me.” Phil pulls on Dan’s arms. 

“I want…” Dan kisses the corner of Phil’s mouth, across his jaw. “I want to go into the bedroom.” 

Phil’s stomach flips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“To sleep?”

“Fuck no.” He shuffles back a little on Phil’s legs and just looks at him. He runs his hands over Phil’s chest and down his sides. On the way back up he thumbs over Phil’s nipples in a way that seems very purposeful. “I just want to lie with you and look at you and kiss you and maybe… maybe touch you a bit. Just like this.”

“Above the waist,” Phil says. Not like a question, but also very much like a question.

“I think so. I don’t wanna, like… I don’t wanna rush?”

Phil nods.

“This doesn’t feel real.” He shuffles closer again, wrapping an arm around the back of Phil’s neck. “Is this real?”

Phil rubs his palms up Dan’s sides. “I fucking hope so.”

“It doesn’t feel as scary as thought.”

“It’s not scary at all,” Phil whispers. 

“Maybe it’s a little scary. For me.” Dan swallows. “Because I want it so bad.” He ducks down then, hiding his face in Phil’s neck. “I can’t stop rambling.”

“I like it,” Phil says. “It’s cute. And usually it’s me rambling.”

Dan kisses his neck. “Are you still gonna be real in the morning?”

Phil nods.

“Will you sleep with me tonight?”

He nods again.

“Will you skip work and spend all day in bed with me?” 

Phil whines. “Don’t tempt me.” 

“But I want to tempt you.”

“We’ll deal with tomorrow when it comes,” Phil says. He pushes lightly at Dan and Dan gets to his feet. 

When Dan holds out his hands, Phil expects to be helped to his feet but instead Dan pulls him all the way in. They’re chest to bare chest and kissing and somehow it might actually be better standing up. 

He has a feeling bed will take the cake, though. That’s what leads him to walk Dan backwards toward the hall, toward Dan’s door, until he accidentally guides Dan to bump into a corner and Dan declares that Phil isn’t allowed to lead. 

“Sorry,” Phil says, laughing and rubbing at the back of Dan’s head. 

“Let’s not make near concussions our thing, yeah?” Dan spins them around and kicks his own door open. 

“Oh, that was smooth.” Phil doesn’t pretend not to be impressed. Why should he? Dan deserves to know how impressive he is. 

They stand in the dark of the room like that. Something shifts, minute but enough for Phil to feel it. It makes him nervous. “Dan?” 

“This doesn’t feel real,” Dan says again. 

“It’s real.” Phil puts his hands on Dan’s face again and kisses him on the mouth. “What’s in your head?” 

“Just.” Dan licks his lips. “I don’t know. Kiss me until my brain stops working.” 

“I can do that.” Phil pushes in with parted lips and a drive to do exactly as Dan asked. It’s slow and wet and sweet, the noises their mouths make together filling Dan’s bedroom with a level of intimacy that gives Phil goosebumps.

It seems to work. Dan relaxes in Phil’s arms, sighing against his face. “You should take your pjs off.”

Phil’s voice comes out breathy and deep. “Yeah?” 

Dan answers by hooking his thumbs under the elastic waistband. Phil’s breath hitches.

“Oh, are you— you’re not going commando are you?” Dan asks. “I don’t think I can physically, spiritually or emotionally handle seeing your cock right now.”

Phil laughs. “I’m not.”

“Oh good.” He pushes Phil’s trousers off his hips, and they fall to the ground in a puddle around his ankles. “I mean, not that I don’t—”

“It’s okay,” Phil interrupts. “It’s really okay, Dan. Please don’t make yourself anxious because you think I have expectations. Because I don’t. I’m just… happy. I can't even tell you how freaking happy I am.”

Dan steps back wordlessly and rakes his eyes up and down Phil’s body. “I might have some expectations,” he says in a low voice. “Once I wrap my head around all this.”

Phil closes his eyes. “Stop saying things.”

“I just don’t want you to think this is about me not being attracted to you, because I swear Phil, I am so fucking attracted to you. You don’t know how much… how many times I’ve—” 

Phil covers Dan’s mouth with his hand. “I don’t think I can handle you finishing that sentence.” 

Dan’s laugh is damp against Phil’s fingers. “Okay.” 

“Anyway,” Phil says. “I get it. I’m - I mean. I think it’s good for me, too. This is just… it feels like a lot. Like… important. And I don’t want to just… rush through anything.” 

“Fuck.” Dan huffs out a breath and then his joggers are on the floor with Phil’s bottoms and he’s turning around, reaching across the bed and yanking his duvet back. 

The view when he bends to do it sends a jolt of pure want through Phil. He actually takes a tiny physical step back just at the power of it. Dan’s body is long, so long, and Phil wants to put his mouth over every inch of it. 

That’s the thing he couldn’t figure out words to say. He’s not sure he’s ever looked at a person before and felt so much physical want and emotional need at the same time. He loved Ben, and he wanted Ben, but it never felt all-consuming in this way. 

Or maybe it did and he just can’t remember. The logical part of his brain says surely this can’t be the first time he’s felt this, that memories just fade with time. 

He has the thought that he hopes Dan is never a faded memory.

“You’re so hot,” he says, just in case his mushy forever feelings try to escape from his heart in the form of words.

Dan straightens up, turns around and gives Phil a massive grin before grabbing him and pulling him down onto the bed. Phil lands heavily on top of Dan’s chest and it knocks the air out of both of them. 

“That wasn’t very sexy,” Dan laughs. 

“You’re in your pants, everything you do right now is sexy.” They’re pressed together from sternum to knee, a fact of which Phil is painfully aware. He’s not hard, but he’s not soft either. He’s not sure if Dan can tell, but he doesn’t want even the potential of Dan feeling pressured. 

So he rolls off. 

Dan reaches for him immediately. “I’m gonna need you not to do that.”

“Sorry. Didn’t wanna crush you.”

“Why not?” Dan grins another wickedly cheeky grin. “Can’t think of anything better than being crushed by a guy as fit as you.”

“Oh shut up.” Phil tries to pull away, embarrassment flaming in his cheeks, but Dan fully grabs him.

“I’m kind of serious?” The tone has changed again. Dan seems nervous. “I need you to let me cling. Please.” His smile is gone.

“Dan.” Phil props himself up on one elbow. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I don’t - trust… myself. To just like, have good things. You get that, right? It’s not you. I’m just - I’m fucking twenty eight and I haven’t properly been with anyone I cared about in over a decade. And even then it was just… anyway, this isn’t about that, it’s just - fuck, my therapist is going to have a field day—”

“Dan.” Phil interrupts him gently. “I’m not going anywhere, but you can hold me down all night long if that makes you feel better about whatever you need to feel better about.” 

He rests back against the pillow and holds his arms open. This feels safer but it’s not entirely selfless. He wants it just like the night before but with nothing in between them. He wants the closeness and contact he hasn’t had in so long, that he’d barely even realized he’d properly starved for until Dan came along. 

Dan settles into place, his side against Phil’s. He leans in and kisses Phil again and they’re already good at this. It’s already the best kissing Phil’s ever had by leagues and leagues and he’s not sure the world will be able to stand it if they get any better. 

Yeah, maybe he’s a bit out of his mind with the whole night right now. It’s strange how he didn’t have a plan for this. He had the feeling that something was building, and he knew sooner or later (sooner, really) it would break. 

But his mind never had a how or a where or a when. His imagination never conjured up Dan on a sofa with Sarah Michelle Gellar playing in the background. A year ago he wouldn’t have even been able to conceive of Dan. His life was endless waiting of a different sort, and the feeling like he’d never be happy again. 

This doesn’t fill the hole in his life where grief resides but it does make him happy. “Dan,” he whispers, pausing the kiss on that thought that feels too big not to share. “You make me happy.”


	30. Chapter 30

*

*

It’s not the first time Phil has woken up next to Dan.

But it’s the first time he wakes up in Dan’s arms. It’s the first time he wakes up next to Dan after they’ve kissed until their lips hurt.

Phil’s lips still hurt, actually. They feel chapped. Raw.

His whole body feels raw, inside and out, like he’s been broken down and rebuilt. His cheek is pressed against Dan’s chest. He can feel the rise and fall of each slow breath. He tilts his face up to get a look at Dan’s sleeping face, only to be met with morning eyes and a tired smile.

“Morning, gorgeous,” Dan says in a version of husky Phil’s never heard from him before.

Dan really wasn’t wrong for feeling like none of this is real. Even in the light of day it feels too rosy and magical to be a thing that’s actually happening.

“You’re awake,” Phil says. He shifts a bit, resting his chin on Dan’s pec.

“Yeah.”

“Did you sleep?”

“A bit.”

Phil frowns. “Did I keep you up?”

Dan’s fingers trail lazily up Phil’s back. “In a way.”

He doesn’t like that. “I don’t like that.”

Dan just smiles. “I feel like a kid at Christmas. I was too giddy to sleep.”

“Oh.” 

He doesn’t have time to think of anything less stupid to say before Dan is leaning down to kiss him, morning breath and all. 

“Don’t look like that,” Dan says. “I don’t have much work today. I’ll sleep while you’re gone.” 

Phil properly whines at that. “I don’t want to go.” 

“Good. Don’t.” 

“But I have to.” Phil sighs dramatically. “What time is it?” 

“You have time.” Dan traces his fingertips down Phil’s spine. “Half an hour at least. Time to stay and give me those good snug-snugs.” 

Phil laughs and presses his face to Dan’s skin again. “That sounds ridiculous. But, yeah. Snugs, please.” 

“I’ll snuggle you up so good you’ll never wanna leave.” Dan makes good on his promise, wrapping his arms around Phil and rolling them over so he’s on top. 

“I already never want to leave,” Phil says. “That’s not a hard job to do.” 

“Because of me?” 

“Because of you,” Phil confirms. 

He gets cuddled up so good he almost does fall asleep again, but Dan’s just this side of too heavy on him. After a few minutes he shifts just a bit and they end up wrapped in each other the opposite way as before, Dan’s cheek on Phil’s chest. 

“Hey, Dan?” Phil asks quietly. 

“Yeah?” Dan’s fingers are distracting, petting at the hair on Phil’s chest. 

“Last night you said you haven’t dated anyone since you were a teenager.” Phil’s not really planning out what he’s saying in his mind first, which may be a dangerous thing, but he can’t help that he wants to know everything about Dan and this feels like the natural starting place. 

“Did I say that?” Dan tries to dance around it a bit. “I guess maybe I did.” 

“You did.” Phil laughs softly. “But if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay.” 

“No, I’m just like… I don’t know. I’m not sure what to talk about. My embarrassing lack of dating history? The years of repression and internalized homophobia? Childhood bullying? Neglect and even more homophobia from my father?” 

“Dan.” Phil feels choked by how much he hates literally all of that. He squeezes his arm around Dan’s shoulder. 

Maybe he should have left it at the morning snugs. 

“Shit, sorry. You didn’t ask for a therapy session, either.” 

“No, but it’s alright,” Phil says. “I didn’t not ask for it. I just want to know you. Including all the bad parts.” 

“Still. I’m gonna try to not run you off immediately.” 

“You won’t run me off,” Phil says stubbornly. 

Dan responds like he didn’t hear Phil. Phil isn’t sure how to take that, but he guesses maybe it’s a coping mechanism. “You were asking me about my relationship history. I just… haven’t done this in a long time.” 

“Been with a guy?” 

“Properly dated.” 

“Oh.” Phil struggles with what to say to that, but there’s really only one question he wants to ask. “Do you want to date me? Properly?” 

Dan’s head lifts. “Did you miss where I just had emotional verbal diarrhoea all over our cozy morning together? I’ll let you take that back if you want to.”

“Dan!” Phil actually pushes him off and sits up. “Look at me.” 

Dan looks at him. That spot on his cheek is bashful and rosy. “Okay.” 

“First of all,” Phil says. “You have beautiful eyes.” 

“Fuck,” Dan all but whispers. 

“Second of all, yeah, Dan, I actually want to date you quite a lot. So much that my boss and my brother both realized it within twenty four hours of seeing us together.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Dan looks happy - and then not. “I’m sorry I made you wait so long.”

“Don’t do that.” Phil reaches out and takes Dan’s hand in his. “Please? You didn’t owe me anything. You still don’t.”

“I’ve wanted you for ages, Phil. When I found out— when you told me your ex was a bloke, I just—” He mimes his head exploding.

Phil’s heart feels like it’s doing something similar. “I have a confession.”

“What?”

“Coming out to you was on my bucket list.”

“Fuck off, no it wasn’t.”

“Yes it was! Ask Stevie if you don’t believe me.”

“Did you… Were you, like… thinking about me? Even back then?”

“Dan.” He squeezes Dan’s hand. He’s slightly afraid that admitting to it will make him seem like a creep, but he doesn’t want secrets between them. “Yes. I was.”

Dan’s smile gives Phil the courage to ask, “Were you? About me?”

Dan actually laughs. “Mate.”

Phil has butterflies everywhere. His elbows. His toes. His fucking kneecaps. “What?”

“I mean, I thought you were gorgeous from literally the instant I laid eyes on you. And then you were sweet and funny and a huge nerd and I just…” He looks down at where their hands are joined. “I actually thought it was going to be a problem.”

Phil tugs on Dan’s hand in a way he hopes is reassuring. “I tried so hard not to have a crush on you.”

“I’m glad you failed.”

“Me too.”

“I’m glad I failed,” Dan says. “I’m glad you trusted me enough to be yourself. When you said you were meeting your ex, I was like…” He takes a little breath. “I don’t think it’s even an exaggeration to say I was a bit devastated. I thought you were gonna bring some girl back here and—” He cuts himself off. “You came out of the loo with black hair looking like every wet dream I’ve ever had and I felt like I was going to die.”

“Dan.” Phil hides his face. 

“Then you came home alone and said _he_ and I just…” He finally looks up at Phil again. “I felt this… safety. Like I could finally, I dunno… breathe.”

“You’re gonna make me cry.”

“I think I _am_ going to cry,” Dan says. “So let me get this out first.”

Phil nods.

“I want to date you properly. Like… that’s not even the right word. Dating implies a certain level of uncertainty. I want… I just want to _be_ with you. I want all of you. I’ve never liked or trusted anyone as much as you. I’ve never in my life met anyone who made me feel safe enough to think this would ever be an option for me. And now I do. Because of you.” He looks away, off into the corner of his room, his teeth dug into the flesh of his bottom lip. 

Phil has forgotten how to breathe.

“I don’t know how to do casual,” Dan says, turning to Phil again. “I’m not casual about anything that matters to me. So yeah. I want you.”

“I want you too,” Phil says. “I want you so much. This feels like a brand new feeling to me. I - I did casual. Ben and I… I mean, he was… good. It was good. But it wasn’t this. I guess I did casual for so long that I thought that’s how it would always feel, but it didn’t. It doesn’t. I don’t feel casual about you at all, Dan. I feel so… not casual about you.” 

He feels bursting at the seams with feelings he can’t find the right words for, but it seems to make sense to Dan because Dan laughs and covers his face with his hands and shakes his head. 

“This is fucking insane. Who are you? How did you end up in my life?” 

Phil sits back against the bed. He studies Dan, the sleepy-wild curls and lines at his eyes where he’s smiling widely, the slope of his shoulder and back. “I don’t know,” he says, answering honestly. “But I’m so glad I did.” 

He doesn’t complain at all when Dan pushes him down into the mattress to kiss him some more. 

-

He does have to actually get out of bed eventually. He works today and he’s already begged a couple days in the past week for the festival. Stevie might be relaxed - and might even accept ‘got a new boyfriend’ as a valid excuse to come in late - but Phil doesn’t want to push his luck. 

He’s also not sure he really wants to share yet. He knows she can tell that he’s in a good mood but the day is busy with her classes back to back. 

She invites him out for a drink afterwards. He knows she wants to pry - that’s just the kind of person she is - but she also doesn’t argue him when he says he’d rather just get home. 

-

Dan’s in his bedroom when Phil walks in. 

He tries not to be too disappointed. It’s not that he expects a home cooked meal after every work day - far from it, really. Dan works too, and often longer hours than Phil does. If anything, Phil thinks, he should be cooking for Dan tonight. 

But he does want to see Dan. It’s all he’s been able to think about all day. They’ve texted, of course, but Phil was so busy that the only time they had a long stretch to chat was during the twenty minutes of lunch break he stole away to pick up food for himself and Stevie. 

Is it ridiculous to miss someone so much after only eight hours? 

He knocks on Dan’s door. It opens easily under the pressure of his knuckles, not entirely latched to begin with. A smile steals across his face. Dan is passed out asleep on the bed, breathing deeply and evenly. He’s not wearing a shirt but he has different pants on and his hair looks like he’s done something to it, so Phil thinks Dan must have left the house at some point and then come back for a nap. 

Phil acts on impulse as he strips down to his pants. All day long he’s wanted to be right back in bed with Dan, so why resist? 

Dan stirs when Phil climbs onto the bed. Perhaps it’s bad new relationship etiquette, but he’s not at all bothered about waking Dan up as he pulls the duvet out from under Dan’s body so he can tuck them both under it. 

Dan reaches for Phil before he’s even opened his eyes, pulling him in so he can rest the side of his face on Phil’s chest, as if the parts of their day that included being away from each other never really happened. 

“How was your day?” Phil asks.

Dan yawns. “Eh.”

“What’d you do?”

“Wrote a bit. Went to therapy. Came back home and passed out in a hollowed out daze.”

Phil frowns. “Hollowed out?”

“Therapy is hard sometimes. Self reflection can be utter shite.”

Phil rubs his hand down Dan’s arm. “I’m sorry.”

That seems to wake Dan up. He opens his eyes and lifts his head. “We definitely don’t need to talk about it.”

“We can, though. If you want.”

Dan shakes his head, straining his face in Phil’s direction. Phil gets the hint, warmth unfurling in his chest as he closes the distance and gives Dan a kiss. It feels so natural already. Like they’ve been doing it forever. Except for the toe curling excitement. There’s a feeling of newness that lives right alongside the ease.

“I can’t believe I can do that now,” Dan murmurs, smiling faintly as he pulls away. 

“Same.” Both of their voices have taken on a hushed, dreamy sort of tone, which Phil thinks is exactly appropriate. 

“This was the nicest wake up ever.” Dan shifts a bit so more of his body is resting on top of Phil’s.

“You’re not cross I interrupted your nap?”

“Officially no, never, please always wake me up by crawling into my bed with no clothes on.”

“I’m wearing pants,” Phil mumbles sheepishly.

“Well, everyone makes mistakes sometimes. I won’t hold it against you.”

Phil laughs. “Shut up.”

“Never.” Dan pushes himself up on his hands and knees so he’s bracketing Phil’s head with his arms and straddling Phil’s hips with his knees.

Phil stops laughing instantly. “Jesus,” he murmurs. There’s only a small piece of fabric separating Dan from complete nudity, and patience aside, Phil wants him. Badly. “Don’t do that,” he says in a low voice.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t actually think you want me to touch you, and it’s really hard not to when you look like that.”

“It’s not about what I _want_ , Phil. Trust me.”

“What’s it about?”

Dan doesn’t answer. He leans down and catches Phil’s mouth with his, starting slow but escalating steadily into something deep and wet and blisteringly hot.

So hot that Phil has to turn his face away. Dan’s not having it, though. He just kisses Phil’s jaw instead, lowering his weight onto his elbows, pressing his weight down on top of Phil. He kisses over to Phil’s ear and takes the lobe between his lips. “I’m not always brave enough to ask for what I want, yeah? Can you let me be brave tonight?”

Phil’s stomach flips violently, and he can’t stop himself reaching up to hold Dan’s hips. It takes every ounce of self control he’s got not to melt under Dan’s attention.

“I don’t want you to feel like you need to be brave when you’re with me.”

Dan tries to pull away, but Phil doesn’t let him, gripping his hips tighter to keep him in place. “I’m not rejecting you,” Phil says. “I want to do this right. I want you to trust me.”

“I do.”

“Talk to me.”

Dan collapses fully on top of Phil, hiding his face in Phil’s neck. “I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing,” he whispers.

“With me?”

Dan pushes up on his elbows again. “Not like that. Not like—” He cuts himself off to lean down and press his mouth to Phil’s. “I’ve fooled around with a total of three guys and that was ten years ago and I haven’t been with anyone since. I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?” Phil wraps an arm around Dan’s lower back so he doesn’t get any ideas about leaving. 

“Be your— your boyfriend. Or whatever.”

Phil beams. He knows Dan is slightly in crisis mode, but he can’t hear those words and not feel elated. “Is that what you are?”

“Is that what you want me to be?” Dan asks.

Phil nods. “Hell yeah.”

“Even though I don’t know how?”

“That’s bullshit,” Phil says. “You’re already doing it.”

“Yeah, but… I can’t… I can’t…” He stops. Takes a breath. “You’re out. And I’m not.”

“I don’t care.”

“My sexuality is basically hypothetical at this point. I’ve been celibate my entire adult life.”

“Definitely don’t care.” He smoothes Dan’s hair off his forehead, rubbing his thumb against Dan’s skin. “Please don’t tell me you think I give one flying fuck about any of that, Dan.”

Dan doesn’t answer.

“I’ve never been anyone’s boyfriend,” Phil offers. “Not really. Ben and I just… were, and then we weren’t. People made their assumptions and we went along with them because we were definitely something, but we never labeled it.”

“I don’t want to be closeted forever,” Dan says quietly. “But for now… I just can’t.”

Phil reaches up with both hands to hold Dan’s face and pull him into a kiss. “That’s fine. That’s great. Safe space, remember? I had one and you didn’t.”

“I do now.” His eyes are shiny.

“Don’t cry.” Phil kisses one eyebrow and then the other, 

“I think I’m still all fucked up from therapy,” Dan says. “I’m sorry.”

“I should’ve let you sleep.”

Dan shakes his head. “I’m just fucked up and mad that things in my head can’t be as easy as they should be. Even good things. It’s like the most hilarious cosmic joke. Dan gets what he wants for the first time in fucking forever? Can’t stop crying about it.” 

“I think it’s just like that sometimes,” Phil says. “Big emotions are a lot to process whether they’re good or bad.” 

“You sound like my therapist.” Dan sniffles just a bit. 

Phil laughs and kisses his lips again. “Then your therapist is smart.” 

“What about yours?” Dan asks. “How’d Stevie take it?” 

“She’s not my therapist,” Phil says. “And I didn’t tell her yet.” 

“Really?” Dan asks. “Why?” 

“For one thing,” Phil says. “I’m not going to out you to her.” 

Dan rolls his eyes. “I basically out myself to anyone I have more than one decent conversation with. It’s like I don’t want to _come out_ but I also end up hating the idea that anyone thinks I’m straight so I just confuse everyone.” 

“So?” Phil asks. “It’s alright for them to stay confused. It’s your business, not theirs. You can be as confusing as you want.” 

“So it didn’t frustrate you? Not knowing if I was straight or not?” 

Phil laughs. “I mean, yeah, but it still wasn’t your problem to deal with. And it was only frustrating because I felt like someone was dangling the tastiest sweet in the world in front of me and I didn’t know if I was allowed to take a bite or not.” 

He lifts Dan’s arm up and playfully chomps down on it. 

“Idiot,” Dan says fondly. 

“I’m serious, though,” Phil says. “This is… more than I could have dreamed of. But I wasn’t going to be any less your friend if you’d never felt okay coming out to me.” 

“I haven’t even come out to myself, like, in a real way. That’s something I’ve been working on in therapy for the past couple years. Just dealing with all the bullying and shit that made me repress everything.” 

“Bullying?” Phil asks. Dan’s alluded to it before, and he knows that Dan’s tattoo must be rooted in some serious and darker things in his past, but he wants to give Dan the opening to talk about it now if he wants to. 

He does, apparently. “Yeah, from the time I was old enough to start school, kids on the playground called me names. I don’t know what it was about me that they just seemed to be able to see everything in my head. I mean, those little twats were calling me a gaylord half a decade before I even knew what the word gay meant or that I might be it. But by the time I was old enough to actually understand fancying guys, I’d already had it drilled into me that it was wrong and fucked up and not something I should ever admit to. But you know me. I can’t just… not do things. Impulsiveness is basically a form of self harm to me. Bully that nearly gave me a concussion tries to kiss me at a party? Sure, why not go down on him.” 

“Dan.” It’s physically painful to Phil to hear this, but he’s not trying to stop Dan. He just reaches out and takes his hand. 

“Everything good in my life has always been just scrambled up with everything bad. I don’t know how to separate feeling good about something without feeling guilty about it and like the good things are somehow off limits or I’m going to be punished for them. That’s mostly what I talked to my therapist about today.” 

“That’s a lot,” Phil says. “But I hope you know that you don’t need to feel guilty about how I feel about you.” 

“Yeah, I mean… I do. Rationally. Just… The wires got crossed so early, you know?”

Phil nods. “Will you tell me? Like, if you’re feeling guilty about something, tell me so I can tell you it’s okay?”

Dan bites his lip. “I feel guilty right now.”

“Why?”

“Because you make me feel super fucking gay, Phil.”

Before he can assess the rightness or wrongness of it, Phil is grinning, so he decides to lean in and hope it’s not an approach that’s going to backfire. “That’s brilliant.”

“How do I make you feel?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“No.” Dan licks over the little pink teeth marks in his lip. “I know it’s daft but I think I want to hear you say it.”

“That I’m super gay for you?”

Dan smiles, nodding.

“I am. I’ve always been gay but never more than when you’re around. And when you’re in nothing but your pants, it’s… there isn’t even a word for it. Gay times infinity.”

“And you don’t feel guilty?”

“I don’t.” He pulls Dan in so Dan is sat between his legs. Dan’s back is pressed to Phil’s chest, and Phil hooks his arm around the side of Dan’s neck. He presses his hand to Dan’s chest, on the left side, right over his heart. “I didn’t always feel okay with it, but I wouldn’t change it now. Even if I could, I wouldn’t want to.”

“I want that,” Dan murmurs, closing his hand over Phil’s, pulling Phil’s arm tighter around him. 

Phil drops his head down and kisses Dan’s shoulder. “You’ll have it.”

“Why are you so good?”

“I’m not that good,” Phil murmurs, kissing across Dan’s shoulder over to his neck. 

Dan drops his head back and shivers as Phil’s mouth moves up his neck. “Fuck. You are.”

“You deserve good. You deserve the best.”

“Please stop talking.”

Phil huffs a breath of laughter right under Dan’s ear. “Why?” he whispers.

“Because otherwise I’m going to cry, and I’d rather focus on how hot you’re making me.”

Phil brings his other hand around and rubs it over Dan’s stomach.

“God.” Dan’s chest heaves. “Jesus Christ, Phil.”

Phil uses his teeth just a little. He runs his fingers through the trail of hair that leads down into Dan’s pants, pants that Phil can’t help noticing are starting to tent. 

“Phil,” Dan says. 

“Yeah?”

His head is still tipped back against Phil’s shoulder. He turns it and finds Phil’s ear with his mouth. “Tell me it’s okay.”

“It’s okay,” Phil whispers back. He doesn’t need to ask what Dan’s talking about. “It’s more than okay.”

“I want you so bad.”

“You have me.”

“I want to—” He makes a very quiet, very sexy noise when Phil bites the flesh of his shoulder. “I’ve thought dirty things about you so many times and the reality is already better. You haven’t even touched me yet.”

“I’m touching you,” Phil argues gently. He’s hard now, and digging into Dan’s lower back. There’s no way Dan can’t feel it. 

“When you touch me for real, I’m going to die.”

Phil splays his hand out across Dan’s stomach. He wants so badly to reach down, to slide his hand inside Dan’s pants and touch him for real. He wants to do all the dirty things he never allowed himself to fantasize about.

“Phil.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t feel guilty,” he says, and then slides his own hand into his pants.

Phil could cry. It’s confusing actually, the swell of genuine emotion Dan’s words have inspired paired with the molten hot visual of his knuckles straining the material of his Calvins as he works himself over. 

Phil holds Dan through it. He kisses his neck and watches, trying to catalogue every breath and quiet moan. He wants to remember this forever. He hopes his arms will always remember the way Dan went stiff underneath them as he came. He hopes his neck will always remember the way Dan turned his face into it as he tried to catch his breath again. He never wants to forget Dan’s skin in the soft glow of his fairy lights or the way he smelled of sweat and something sweeter. The way he slumped back when it was over, the way he melted into Phil like Phil was the home he was coming back to.

“Fuck,” Dan breathes. “Shit. That was so fast. What are you doing to me, Lester?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Phil says. He’s achingly hard but it’s a secondary feeling to the way he never, ever wants to move from this post, holding this man, living this moment. He kisses Dan’s temple. 

Dan lets out another shuddering breath. “I need… stay. Stay here,” Dan orders, and then he gets up and Phil has a moment of feeling absolutely bereft at the lack of Dan against him. 

The feeling barely has time to settle before Dan’s back, crawling into Phil and burrowing like he wants to make a home there. Phil’s arms go around Dan easily, a firm embrace that seems to soothe the both of them. 

“Sorry,” Dan mumbles. “You already saw my ridiculous orgasm face. I couldn’t handle you seeing me with a hand full of jizz, too.” 

“You say that like it’s not the sexiest thing in the world.” Phil’s voice is slightly scratchy and he’s still hard though less urgently so. Then his voice drops to something small and he asks, because he has to ask: “Was that okay?” 

“Fuck yes,” Dan immediately says. “It was so okay that I think I don’t have any bones left in my body.” 

Phil laughs. “Good.” 

“I think I may literally die when you touch me for real.” 

“This was real,” Phil says. 

“You know what I mean, though.” Dan swallows and leans his head against Phil’s shoulder. 

“I do,” Phil says. “And I can’t wait for that.”

“Oh,” Dan says. He’s definitely smiling. Phil would be able to hear it in his voice even if he couldn’t see the dimple on Dan’s cheek. “Me too. But this is nice for now, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Phil sinks lower back into the pillows. “This is perfect.”

Dan sits up, putting his palms flat on Phil’s chest and just… looking at him. Maybe any other day, with any other person, it would make Phil feel self-conscious about his body - but there’s nothing to take from Dan’s gaze except adoration. 

“You don’t feel guilty,” Phil says, not a reminder but a proud assertion. 

Dan laughs and leans in for a kiss. “I don’t.” 

Phil knows that doesn’t mean Dan won’t have moments where it creeps up on him, or that he won’t struggle with other things in the future. His journey with grief has taught him about the way emotions can fluctuate for reasons you don’t even entirely understand and can’t predict. Dan might not have lost a person but he did lose something vital. He lost the chance to be himself and be proud of who he is, and the pain of a loss like that can’t be put to rest overnight. 

But it doesn’t have to hurt forever. Phil wants to make a million memories like this one to drown out every bad one that’s ever kept Dan awake at night or made him feel like less than a person, like he deserves less than any other person walking this earth. 

Because he doesn’t. He deserves everything. And Phil’s going to help give it to him.


	31. Chapter 31

*

*

New love doesn’t come without some drawbacks, some hurdles that Phil will have to learn to navigate. One of them is forcing himself to get out of bed while Dan is still in it. 

He does it, though; he leaves a bed with a warm mostly naked Dan and showers the heat of the night off of his skin and sets about a morning routine that is familiar and yet, like everything else now, feels entirely new. 

Maybe it’s that it _is_ new, though. Because Dan certainly never sat perched on the sink while Phil shaved before. Phil never felt so thoroughly, pleasantly studied before. 

“That’s so hot,” Dan says, watching Phil drag the razor down his face. 

Neither of them are wearing shirts. Phil tries to tune out the white noise of body image insecurities in the back of his mind, because there’s nothing but appreciation when Dan does look at him and he knows that. 

“What is?” Phil pauses to rinse the razor off. “That I can grow facial hair?”

“Low blow,” Dan says, and sticks his fingers under the faucet to flick water at Phil. 

“Oi,” Phil says. “Watch it, I’m easily distracted, and that doesn’t end well when I’m holding sharp objects.” 

“I guess I should know this by now,” Dan says. “Since you are the actual clumsiest person I’ve ever met.” 

Phil sticks his tongue out, which only results in him getting shaving foam on it and sputtering. Dan leans back against the mirror and laughs and watches and the slow burn of warmth in Phil’s stomach shows no signs of dissipating by the time he’s splashing water on his face. 

Dan hands him a hand towel when he’s done so Phil can pat the dampness off of his skin. 

“Smooth?” Phil asks. 

“Looks smooth.” 

“You need to test it,” Phil demands. 

Dan puts his hands on Phil’s face and then leans over and kisses his mouth. “You are not smooth. Your face is, though.” 

He tries to lean back but Phil doesn’t let him, deepening the kiss until Dan slides off the counter altogether and backs Phil against the door. 

“Being subtle is overrated,” Phil says, looping his arms around Dan’s neck. “Not subtle gets you kisses.”

“I would like to argue you, but unfortunately I want to kiss you some more instead.” 

Phil tastes mint when Dan’s lips part under his. 

Eventually they have to stop. Phil smiles with his lips against Dan’s still and very sweetly says, “Make me cereal?” 

“Is this what a relationship with you is going to be like?” Dan asks, groaning. “Constantly dealing with your demands for food?” 

“That’s what _life_ with me is life,” Phil points out. “You already had to deal with that.” 

“... touche.” 

But Dan is a good boyfriend who does go and make Phil cereal while Phil quickly brushes his teeth and puts some clothes on. 

“I have to go by the offices today for a meeting,” Dan says. “Think Stevie will let you out of the dungeons for work?” 

“Probably,” Phil says. “Depends on if there are classes happening or not. I can text you and let you know.” 

“Maybe if we can’t do lunch, we can grab dinner out after.” Dan’s voice has a fake-casual note to it that makes Phil bite back a smile. 

He’s not sure if Dan’s quite ready to go on a date in public with another guy. But if Dan just wants to _grab dinner_ out together… Phil’s not going to object. 

-

Dan arrives at the shop twenty minutes before closing. Stevie is in the back finishing up her last class, and Phil is glad. He doesn’t need her to be witness to the look on his face as he takes in the six foot three deliciousness that is Dan in ripped black jeans and a red button up - Phil’s red button up.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” Phil informs him, as if he didn’t already know.

“Observant.”

“I want to eat you.”

“We still haven’t negotiated that kink.” Dan grins a crooked grin and Phil really does want to take a bite of his cheek. Or something else.

He puts his hand over his mouth. “Are you _trying_ to kill me?”

Dan looks down at himself, then shrugs. “Thought you might like me in it.”

Phil reaches out as if to grab a handful of the shirt and yank Dan in close, then lets it drop again. “I like you in it,” he confirms. “I like you in everything. But this is… You’re wearing colour.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“You really suit red.”

“Not as much as black.”

Phil rolls his eyes fondly. “You look hot, just accept it.”

The studio door opens then, and students start milling out. When Stevie comes out and sees Dan, her whole face lights up. She rushes through her goodbyes and then manages to pull Dan away while Phil is stuck ringing up the handful of people actually patronizing the shop.

Once they’re all gone, Stevie bounds over to him. “I heard a rumour you and Dan are going out for food.”

“Um—”

She cuts him off with: “Mind if Théo and I join you?”

And just like that, dinner out together turns into a double date, because Stevie is relentless and Phil is powerless to deny her the things she wants when she wants them so desperately. 

When she steps outside to ring Théo, Phil pulls Dan aside. “Is this okay?” His stomach is in guilty knots thinking he’s ruined what was supposed to be their first proper date. “I can tell her no.”

Dan’s smile is easy. “Nah, it’ll be fun.”

“I promise I still haven’t told her anything.”

Dan finds Phil’s wrist and strokes the inside of it briefly with his thumb. “It’s okay, Phil. I promise.”

“You hate unexpected socializing.”

“I like food. And Stevie. And Théo.”

“It was supposed to be just us.”

The shop is empty. The sun outside is starting to set. Stevie is outside leaned back against the window. She’s not looking at them. No one is.

But Phil still feels the quick peck Dan presses to his mouth like a brand. 

“We live together, Phil,” Dan says in a low, quiet voice. “We get to go home together. I’m not bothered about having company when we go out for pizza, because as soon as we’re back at the flat I’m gonna take off all your clothes and get into bed with you.”

Phil clears his throat very quietly. “This may be the only time in my life I’ll ever say this, but can we just skip pizza?”

Dan laughs and it’s a very pleased sound. It’s also a sound that Phil loves, but his nerves are already frazzled from the overload of pure feeling happening inside of him, so that thought is background noise to the rest. “Nope,” Dan says. “I wanna try that pizza place you and Stevie went to.” 

Phil sighs an exaggerated sigh and grabs his keys to finish locking up. “Fine, pizza it is, then.” 

-

Théo meets them there, arriving only a few minutes after they do. They’re at one of the tables along the side this time, Dan and Phil at a bench seat against the wall and Steve and Théo in chairs opposite. It’s a bit early for a proper dinner crowd so the small restaurant doesn’t feel too full and they’re brought their drinks and an appetizer quickly. 

Stevie is her usual self, bubbling with conversation and questions. She’s an extrovert in ways that make Phil marvel but he has to admit that there’s a certain ease about being with someone who has no problem guiding a conversation while still pulling others in, weaving things around so that no one’s voice is entirely lost. 

Phil’s so engrossed in a story she’s telling about an art class she took once where every week there was a different nude model that he doesn’t notice Dan shuffling closer to him on the bench until their hips are pressed together. His immediate reaction is one of slight panic, but when he turns his head subtly to get a look at Dan, Dan is looking at Stevie, smiling and nodding along with what she’s saying. Under the table, he puts a hand on Phil’s thigh. 

Phil turns back to look at Stevie. If she’s noticed anything, she’s not letting on. Neither is Théo. He’s mostly quiet, though it seems to be the kind that’s relaxed and not anxious. His arm is resting across the back of Stevie’s chair, and Phil has to wonder how the scene comes across to an outside observer. Does it _look_ like a double date? Do he and Dan look as together as Stevie and Théo do?

Is Dan wondering the same thing? Is he worrying about it? Phil can’t imagine that he is. The closeness, the touching, those were his doing, just like the kiss in the shop earlier. 

Phil is just starting to relax a little against Dan’s side when Stevie finishes up her story. 

And then Dan blurts it right out: “Me and Phil are together.”

Phil nearly chokes on his hummus. Stevie covers her mouth excitedly and Théo smiles knowingly. “Félicitations, les gars,” he says, but he’s looking at Dan. He doesn’t seem surprised.

Stevie is elated. Phil’s never seen her smile so wide. She reaches across the table and grabs his hand. “Mom chou!” she squeaks. “Mes choux! We need drinks.”

Phil laughs, still stunned. “We already have wine.”

“No, we need—” She looks up, eyes scanning the restaurant. When she spots a server, she waves him over. For some reason, when she does it, it doesn’t seem rude. “Do you have champagne here?” she asks.

Somehow, they do.

“I told you this place was fancy,” Phil mumbles at her as the server goes off to bring them a bottle. He’s slightly mortified, but he can’t stop smiling. Dan’s hand is still squeezing his leg right above the knee.

“If ever there was cause for celebration, this is it,” she declares. Her cheeks are rosy, eyes bright. She turns to Théo and plants a huge messy kiss right on his mouth that he accepts with the same kind of bemused smile. “I hope you’ll give me some details,” she says to Dan.

Dan’s face is proper red. Phil wants to grab his hand and pull him somewhere no one else can look at him, but he settles for lacing their fingers together under the table and squeezing, hard. Then he turns to Stevie. “One gigantic leap of bravery at a time,” he tells her gently.

She nods. “Yes, yes, you’re right.” Then she looks at Dan again. “Can I tell you I’m proud of you? Is that allowed?”

He nods, grinning sheepishly and looking down at his little plate of hummus and crusty bread. “Reckon so.”

“You’ve said it now,” Théo says, bringing a hand around to her shoulder and squeezing. “Let the man breathe.”

She covers her face. “I’m sorry. I’m just so happy. But you’re right, one bravery at a time. Petit a petit, l’oiseau fait son nid. There is nothing wrong with taking your time.”

-

Stevie takes her cues well and after the champagne is flowing and they have one toast - to happiness, to love, to fortune, and to bravery - she leads the conversation elsewhere. 

Phil is relieved, for himself and for Dan. It’s a lot all at once, even if it’s all good. Now that the seal has been broken, he’s sure he and Stevie will have endless conversation in the way they always do while working, but for now it’s nice to let it rest and let them both process. 

“You know,” Stevie says, bright-eyed from the bubbly, “Perhaps this atmosphere of new beginnings should be an inspiration for me. Perhaps I need a bit… of a change.” 

Phil hones in on how she’s smirking and tugging at her hair. 

“Yes,” he says immediately. 

Dan looks confused. “Yes what?” 

“If this is about taking pastry lessons, I’m afraid for the sake of our kitchen fixtures I’ll have to say no,” Théo says. He looks at Dan and Phil. “She tried a bread making course once and we still have the scorch marks.”

“It’s not my fault if the precise measurements of baking do not agree with my creative vision.” She sniffs delicately, like she’s still put out. “I do not understand why if an ingredient is not good, I would not want more of it?” 

Théo shakes his head fondly, but says, “No,” in a firm voice. 

“Not that anyway,” she says, waving a hand like she’s ignoring him. 

“She’s going to dye her hair blue,” Phil fills in. 

She beams. “Yes. That.” 

“That’s brilliant,” Dan says.

“You should let me do it,” Phil declares. “I’ve been dying my own hair for over a decade.”

Stevie snorts. “If you think I’m letting you anywhere near my head with bleach…”

-

They linger over desert and wine and happy conversation. Neither Dan nor Phil drinks all that much; Phil thinks they’re both a little raw still from what happened after Stevie’s party, but he’s got a pleasant buzz by the time Stevie is hugging them goodbye on the pavement outside the restaurant. 

She leans in close to his ear and murmurs a string of pretty words that leave him smiling even after they’ve waved goodbye and headed in opposite directions. 

He and Dan don’t hold hands on the way back to the flat, even though Phil would like to. But Dan is happy. Phil can tell. He seems lighter, somehow.

Phil bumps their shoulders together. “Hey, Dan.”

Dan smiles. “What, weirdo?”

“You came out to Stevie and Théo tonight.”

“Actually, I came out to Théo at the party,” Dan says. “I also told him I had a massive crush on you.”

Phil’s jaw drops. “Shut up.”

“I will not.”

“Do you think he told Stevie?”

“I don’t think he had to,” Dan says. “She’s a clever woman.”

“She is clever,” Phil agrees. “And I was about as transparent as a glass wall, so she at least knew that half of it.” 

Dan grins a bit. “I like that.” 

“That I fancied you? Or that other people knew?” 

Dan shrugs. “I guess both, but mostly the first one. I mean, if you’d come right out and told me two months ago I’d probably have actually shat a brick and then started looking for new flat listings, but hindsight and all that. I’m happy to know now.” 

“Would you really have?” Phil asked. “Is that why you had so many different flatmates before me? They were all secretly infatuated with you and you broke their hearts and they could do nothing but leave because being around you was constant agony?” 

Dan actually guffaws. “Fuck, mate, you have a higher opinion of me than you have any right to hold. No, literally, the opposite of that.” 

“You were infatuated with them?” 

“No, the other opposite.” 

“How are there other opposites?” 

“There just are, shut up. I meant that they moved out because we didn’t like each other, not because we did. It wasn’t all just one reason, though. Like - one of them wanted to have his girlfriend over constantly. She wasn’t even paying rent but had an issue with how I never gave them ‘alone time.’ Even though he knew I worked from home before he moved in. And another guy just kept flaking on the rent, I had nothing to do with that. Landlord took care of him. Then there was… Jared.” Dan grimaces when he says the name. 

“Jared?” Phil asks. 

“Jared. He came in one day when I was watching a movie for work but there were two guys kissing on screen and he started…” Dan trails off, like he’s trying to think of the words. “He laughed and started making jokes about how they should pay me more to watch freaks of nature like that.” 

“Wow,” Phil says. “Fuck that guy.”

“Nah.” Dan smiles, but he looks a little sad. “I’d rather fuck you.”

“Oh my gosh, Dan!” Phil shoves Dan’s shoulder hard.

Dan cackles. “God, I fucking love how easy it is to wind you up.”

Phil doesn’t even have time to come up with any kind of retort before Dan’s laughter dies down. He shoves his hands in his pockets and stares resolutely forward as he walks.

Phil isn’t an angry person. It takes a lot to make him feel properly angry, but knowing there have been so many people in Dan’s life who made him feel shame for his queerness makes Phil boil inside. “Hey Dan.”

Dan looks over. He tries to smile, but Phil can tell it takes effort. “Yeah?”

“Seriously, Jared can choke.”

Dan does smile at that. “Yeah.”

“I can’t wait for you to fuck me.”

Dan bites his lip. “Really?” His voice is quiet. Genuinely disbelieving. 

Suddenly Phil hates that they live in London. He hates that there are always people around, hates that he can’t just grab Dan by the shoulders and snog away every bad thought, every tiny little shred of self doubt.

“I wish I could go back in time and save you from all the bad things.”

Dan runs a hand through his curls. “Me too. But you’re here now.”

“I am.” It takes everything he has not to reach out for Dan’s hand.

-

The instant the door to their flat closes behind them, Phil is on Dan like his life depends on it, grabbing his face and kissing him deep and wet as he walks Dan backwards through the lounge and toward the bedrooms. He’s not bothered where they end up; any bed will do. He hadn’t even allowed time for either of them to take their shoes off. 

He’s only spurred on by Dan’s complete lack of resistance. It’s like Dan was craving the exact kind of reassurance that Phil was dying to provide: that kissing another man doesn’t make him a freak. That actually, it’s something hot and good and right. 

“This is new,” Dan says, and it’s only then that Phil realizes they are actually in his bedroom. 

“Shouldn’t be that new,” Phil says. “You’ve slept in here before.” 

Dan’s grin turns lazy and satisfied. “Fuck, that was a good night.” 

“It really was.” Phil drops back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I can’t believe you tried to tell me there was a leak in your room.” 

“There could have been,” Dan insists. “You don’t know it was a lie.” 

Phil lifts an eyebrow at him - or at least tries to. His eyebrows have a way of not listening to him so who knows what expression it actually ends up being. 

Dan must still get the point, though. “Fine,” he admits. “It was a lie. But I really do hate storms. That wasn’t some sort of clever ruse to get in your bed.” 

“I know.” Phil smiles fondly and reaches out, finding Dan’s hand. “For the record, you wouldn’t have needed a ruse back then… and you don’t need one now.” 

“That so?” Dan asks, kneeling on the bed. He moves so he’s straddling Phil and Phil’s heart starts its marathon race again. 

“Very so,” Phil says. 

“Even if I wanted to get into your bed for… reasons? Sexual reasons?” 

Phil’s mouth goes dry. “Especially that.” 

Dan’s hands trail down Phil’s chest, resting along the waistband of his jeans right at his belt. His thumbs toy with the buckle of it. “So this would be... “ 

“Whatever you’re comfortable with,” Phil says. 

“You make me comfortable,” Dan says. “You make me feel like I could do anything. Everything. Like I want to do it all with you.” 

“Like what?” Phil asks. 

Dan shrugs. “Touch you. Wank you. Blow you. I mean, I haven’t done more than that like… overall. And it’s been a while - I already told you. Almost a decade since I’ve done anything with anyone.” 

“But you have before,” Phil says. 

“Yeah. Had some, uh. Experiences. As a teenager. With guys and girls.” Dan settles like he doesn’t plan on leaving the spot he’s nestled in. “It was good. Nothing traumatic happened with the sex. It was just all the other stuff leading up to it and after it that was traumatic to me.” 

“I want to help you undo all the trauma.” 

Dan’s smile is impossibly fond. “You already are.” 

“You’re helping me too,” Phil says. “With my own trauma. After my dad died I thought… nothing would ever feel right. When I came to London I didn’t feel like I’d just lost him, I felt like I’d lost everything. But then I found something new.” 

Dan leans down and kisses him, sweeter than before. “We got lucky,” he says dreamily.

“Or it was meant to be.”

Dan smiles against Phil’s lip. “You’re an idiot.”

“Your idiot.”

“God.” He takes Phil’s glasses off and tosses them onto a pile of towels on the floor. “Yeah, you are, aren’t you?”

Phil laughs. “An idiot?”

“Mine.”

Phil’s blood turns molten. He gets his fingers on the buttons of Dan’s (Phil’s) shirt and starts to undo them.

Tries, anyway. He’s too flustered and clumsy. He can’t kiss Dan and take his shirt off at the same time, which would be embarrassing if he had space for anything in his head right now besides Dan.

Dan takes over the unbuttoning process and Phil says, “Yeah. I am. Completely.”

“I think we’re pretty shit at taking things slow,” Dan says between kisses. The instant the last button is undone, Phil’s hands are on his chest, stroking over the broad flat expanse of it and pushing the shirt off Dan’s shoulders. 

“I literally don’t care,” he says, then stops, pulling his face back a bit and dropping his hands. “I mean. Unless you do.”

Dan picks up Phil’s hands against and presses them to his chest. “You’re extremely adorable when you’re trying to protect my virtue, but if you don’t touch me tonight I’ll die.”

Phil slides his palms up to Dan’s shoulders, feeling the surprising firmness of the muscle there. “I’m touching you.”

Dan locks eyes with Phil and pushes one of his hands down until it’s placed on the fly of his jeans. 

He cups and Dan’s jeans don’t leave much to the imagination. Even through the thickness of the denim he can feel how hard Dan is. His fingers shake as he pops the button open and tugs the zipper down. It takes a few tries before he gets it. 

Then he’s sliding his hand inside them and cupping Dan with so much less between them. Dan’s breathing is ragged already and Phil thinks of before, of holding Dan while Dan touched himself, and how the noises Dan is making now are the same ones he made then. 

He gets a hand on Dan properly and he’s abruptly sure he’ll die if he doesn’t get Dan’s mouth on his so he croaks out, “Kiss me.” 

Dan half shoves and half wiggles his jeans and pants just down to his thighs before he obeys, enough for Phil to be able to touch with so much less constriction. 

It goes fast from there. Their lips and chins and chests bump together and Phil’s sure he’s got absolutely no discernible rhythm but Dan’s keening and whining and encouraging Phil with pretty, filthy words and then he’s going still. Phil feels the pulse of it strong against his fist and the warmth splatters over his shirt and he feels lighter than air, like he’s the one that just came. 

Dan pants into a barely-moving kiss. “Fuck,” he whispers. “Fucking shitting hell you killed me.” 

“Mm,” Phil mumbles, teasing. “Pillow talk.” 

Dan just keeps trying to catch his breath. 

“Are you okay?” Phil asks.

Dan presses his forehead against Phil’s. His eyes are closed. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Just feels… big.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” Phil wipes his hand on his own jeans, then reaches up to stroke Dan’s side. “Are you feeling guilty?”

Dan shakes his head. “I’m really not.”

“You’re gorgeous,” Phil says. “I loved that.”

Dan pushes on Phil’s shoulders until Phil falls back against the mattress. Dan climbs off his lap, pulling his pants up and his jeans down, then climbs back onto the bed to straddle Phil on all fours. He lowers his face and makes Phil meet him halfway for one kiss, then another and another. 

“Can I touch you now?” Dan asks.

“Do you want to?”

“Yes.” Dan kisses him again. “I really, really do.” Another kiss. “Do you want me to?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“No, Phil. It’s never a trick question. I want you to be honest.”

“I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

“I don’t.” He presses his hand to Phil’s crotch. “I just want to make you come.”

Phil rolls his hips up into Dan’s touch. “Then yeah. Please. Please do that.”

Dan undresses Phil slowly. He takes care with it. He pulls Phil’s jeans off and strokes up his legs. He pulls Phil’s shirt off and leans down to kiss a nipple, then keeps kissing all the way down to his navel. Phil is shivery and twitchy and trying not to feel shame about how demonstrably hard he is under his pants. 

Dan pulls Phil’s pants down and drops them onto the floor without taking his eyes off the parts of Phil he’s just exposed. Phil resists the urge to cover himself with his hands. It feels like this moment is about a lot more than sex. Dan looking at him completely naked, Dan being in complete control of the situation - it’s a very obvious but very important metaphor. 

Dan rubs Phil’s hip. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, and his eyes flick up to make contact with Phil’s. “My sexuality is feeling a lot less theoretical now.”

Phil laughs soundlessly, a breathy exhale of fondness and relief for the break in the tension. “I’m taking that as a compliment.”

“It definitely is. You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Looked in a mirror lately?”

Dan pinches Phil’s side, but only gently. “Shut up, Phil.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m going to touch you now,” he announces. “And you’re going to like it.”

Phil grins. “Hell yeah I am.”

And he does. Dan touches him so well that Phil feels like he’s floating in a dream, except a dream would never give him the ability to live in this moment with such depth of detail. Dan’s hand is big and squeezes just right when it’s wrapped around him and Dan’s chest pressing into his own - he’s being covered by this man, every sense full of him. He kisses desperately at Dan’s sweaty neck. “I’m not going to last long,” he says, feeling like Dan should have some warning. 

But Dan slows down instead of speeding up to get Phil there. “Not done,” Dan says, sounding proud and petulant at the same time. 

Phil laughs breathlessly. “You’re going to kill me.” 

“Not that either,” Dan says. “You’re not allowed to die.” 

The word in all it’s simplistic bluntness sends a shard of something too-real for the moment through Phil, but he does what Lesters often do best and represses it hard. He cups one hand around the back of Dan’s neck and drags him in for a kiss instead. 

In the end it’s the perfect distraction. He’s so thoroughly distracted by the kiss that he almost doesn’t notice what Dan’s doing when he starts to kiss down Phil’s body instead of just on his mouth. 

Then he does catch on and lets out a strangled groan. 

Dan only gets as far as Phil’s stomach before he stops. “I’m not afraid of this,” he says, and drops a kiss on the most intimate place he could. His lips shine with a slickness that isn’t his own for a few seconds before he darts out his tongue and licks it away. 

“Fuck,” Phil says, head hitting the pillow and driving back against it. Dan’s hand is on him again then, wanking fast and tight, and then Phil’s whole body is locking up in an orgasm so powerful he thinks he might actually lose time to it. 

If a handjob does this to him, what will he do when Dan properly blows him? Cease to be, float off in a cloud of endorphins. 

Dan snuggles into him, all but clinging to Phil. Phil doesn’t mind at all. “That was amazing,” he whispers, kissing Dan on the forehead and holding him tight.

“Yeah?”

“For me, yeah.”

“No, for me too,” Dan says. “Maybe even better than you touching me.”

“How dare.”

Dan lies down next to Phil, placing his hand low on Phil’s stomach where he’s still a sticky mess. Phil’s first instinct is one of embarrassment, but Dan’s actions seem purposeful. 

“I did this,” he says quietly. He sounds awed.

“You did.”

“I wanna do it again.”

“Dan, I’m old, remember? I need like, at _least_ half an hour. Probably more, if we’re being fully honest.”

Dan rolls into him and bites his shoulder. “Fuck off, you know what I mean.”

“Well I wanna do it again too. Again and again and again forever.” His heart jolts. He hadn’t really meant for that particular word to jump out like that. 

But Dan just smiles. “I’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.”

Phil rolls onto his side so they’re facing each other. “We have time.”

Dan nods, still smiling. 

“Hey Dan,” Phil says softly.

“What?”

“We came out as a couple to Stevie and Théo today.” He hears the words back and gets butterflies. “We’re a _couple_.”

“I outed us,” Dan corrects.

Phil rubs Dan’s side reassuringly. “And I freaking loved it.” 

“I don’t think I can do that on like, a big scale, though. I’m sorry.”

“Dan.” Phil chides him very gently. “I wouldn’t ask you to. Besides, look at me. You didn’t even know I was gay for ages. I don’t need to lead every conversation with my sexuality.”

“What about your family?” Dan asks. His eyes look big and brown and full of worries that Phil just wants to chase away. 

“They’ll know eventually,” Phil says. “When you’re ready.” 

Dan starts to chew at his bottom lip. “You won’t get tired of waiting on me to be ready?” 

“Dan.” Phil laughs gently. “Your brain really doesn’t ever turn off, does it?” 

Dan shakes his head. “It’s a lot of the issue.” 

Phil kisses Dan, because he thinks that says more than words can. “Let's go back to talking about all that time you have to make up for…” 

Dan snickers into the kiss. “Hasn’t been half an hour yet.” 

“Well,” Phil says. “Maybe I’m feeling extra inspired.”


	32. Chapter 32

*

*

Phil is yanked from the throes of sleep and a very pleasant dream that he immediately forgets. Dan’s behind him and his pillow has migrated to a vertical position, his arms wrapped around it and his face buried in it. 

It takes him a moment to realize what woke him up, but by the third time his phone buzzes with a text reminder on his nightstand he’s fumbling one hand out to slap blindly at it. 

There’s a text from Stevie that reads: _uni bestie is in town for the day, I’m going to keep the shop closed - enjoy the day with ton nouvel amour! I require details later xxoo_

He manages a half asleep thumbs up emoji and then shoves the phone under his pillow and immediately goes back to sleep, Dan’s arm heavy and comfortable around his waist. 

-

The second time he wakes up, it’s because Dan is stirring beside him. 

Parts of Dan, at least. The part pressed against Phil’s ass, innocuous for most of their night time spooning but making its presence known now. 

The pleasure sparks through Phil immediately, pooling in the pit of his stomach. Dan’s hard. They’re in bed and Dan’s hard and Phil doesn’t want to assume, he doesn’t want to push, but he wants… he wants a lot right now. 

And he doesn’t have anywhere to be. He presses one leg back, thigh pushing into Dan’s hard on. 

Dan groans and his hand flattens against Phil’s stomach, like he’s trying to keep Phil trapped there. Phil’s mouth twitches in a half smile. 

“I don’t have to work today,” he says, voice throaty and rough with sleep. 

Dan groans. “Don’t tease me like that.” 

“I’m not.” Phil’s hand covers Dan and squeezes in a firm grasp. “Stevie texted.” 

The pillow is yanked from his hands and Phil finds himself on his stomach before he can really process what’s happening. Dan straddles him and his chest presses against Phil’s back and his cock is sandwiched against Phil’s ass for the briefest moment before Dan lifts up. “I can’t believe you’re here. I can’t believe this is real.” 

Phil groans. He understands. He gets the feeling. This must be the dream. He must still be sleeping. He squirms and rolls over under Dan and they’re pressed together, sparking points of contact between their bodies from forehead to chest to hips to shins. Phil wraps his arms around Dan’s neck and draws him down for a long, deep kiss. 

This morning, they’ve got time. 

-

It’s almost eleven before they get out of bed, and even then it’s only in search of food. They’re both sticky and sweaty and a little disgusting but toast and cereal are necessities for fueling the energy. Crumbs fall between the sheets and Dan chides Phil for being a sloppy mess but he can’t wipe the smile from his face and Phil hopes he never does. 

“Do you have work today?” Phil asks. 

Dan groans. “Ugh. Yeah. I checked my emails while you were in the kitchen, they sent me a screener link so I should at least watch that today. But I don’t want to.” 

“We can watch it together,” Phil says. 

Dan grins. There’s that dimple again. Phil falls under another of those momentary waves of infatuation that keep happening. 

“Sure you don’t want to use your unexpected day off for productive things?” Dan asks. 

“No,” Phil says, shoving the rest of his toast in his mouth and chasing it with a drink of coffee. “I want to spend it in your lap.” 

Dan snorts, having clearly not expected that. “I guess that would work.” 

“Maybe I’ll call my mum later,” Phil says. “I don’t know. I feel like this past week has been insane. I like the idea of a whole day just to be at home with you.” 

The dimple reappears, but shy this time. “I like that too.” 

“It’s weird,” Phil says, putting the plate they were sharing for the toast aside. Their cereal bowls are already emptied and on the bedside table. The kitchen is far too far away. 

“Might be strange ringing your mum while you’re on my lap though,” Dan points out. 

Phil laughs. “Yeah. That’s true. Fine, I guess I’ll give your lap a break for that.” 

Dan smiles. There’s something the tiniest touch tense there now. Phil notices but he doesn’t pry, just takes a drink of his coffee and waits to see if Dan wants to talk or not. Finally Dan says, “I might need to go for a run or something.” 

Phil smiles over his still-warm mug. “That sounds nice.” 

“You could—” Dan chews on his lip some more, worrying the already chapped skin. “You could join me. If you want.” 

Phil wonder if it’s written on his face how happy it makes him that Dan asks. Then he shakes his head anyway. “I’m not really the running sort. But thank you for offering.”

Dan doesn’t look relieved, but he doesn’t look disappointed, either. “Maybe next time?” 

“Maybe,” Phil says. It doesn’t sound fun to him but if it seems important to Dan, he will. 

“You can, however—” Phil says, putting his cup aside too and shuffling closer to Dan. “—bring me a nice treat on your way back.” 

“Oh I _can_ , can I?” Dan’s voice goes dry and sarcastic in that familiar, fond way. 

Phil drops a kiss on his cheek. “Yes, you can.” 

A kiss on the cheek moves down to a kiss on the jaw. A kiss on the jaw trails down to the neck, and Dan arches into it on a soft gasp. 

“That’s illegal,” he murmurs, while pulling Phil closer, combing his fingers through the hair on the back of Phil’s head as he holds it in place, asking without words for Phil to keep going.

And he does, smiling against Dan’s skin, smelling the very human scent of a man who hasn’t showered in at least a day and has been rolling around in bed with another person for a solid fifteen hours. It’s not bad, it’s just… natural. Like pheromones or something, Phil thinks. 

“You’re illegal,” he murmurs back. “Your neck is illegal.”

“Is it?”

“Mhm. I had fantasies about this neck.”

Dan groans quietly, stretching it out even longer. “Did you?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me.”

“Thought about biting it.” He demonstrates, letting his teeth sink in just enough that it probably hurts a little, but Dan makes a sound like it isn’t an unwelcome pain at all. “Thought about sucking it hard enough to leave marks.”

“Yeah,” Dan breathes. He pushes Phil’s head down a little more insistently. “Do it.”

Phil doesn’t need to be asked twice. He rolls on top of Dan’s body and latches on. The way Dan writhes underneath him _should_ be illegal, as should the way he gets a hand between their bodies and pulls their pants down just enough so they're naked and touching where they’re both hard again. 

Almost as intoxicating as the physical sensations is the knowledge that Dan wants this, that Phil’s mouth on his neck feels good enough to override any lingering trepidations about exploring his sexuality without stopping to give himself permission. 

Phil doesn’t pull away until he’s sure he’s left a nice red mark in the shape of his mouth, but when he does, Dan catches his lips in a kiss that confirms that he isn’t currently feeling any kind of hesitation about what they’re doing. 

“It’s better than I thought,” he whispers, one big hand splayed out across Phil’s lower back.

Phil kisses his chin, his jaw, his ear. “What is?”

“Everything. You. All of it.” He slides his hand down and squeezes Phil’s ass. “I thought about it so much, and it seemed too good to be something I’d ever be allowed to have. But it’s actually even better.”

Dan’s pretty words are almost enough to distract Phil from the fact that Dan is touching his ass for the first time. Almost.

He presses his face to Dan’s neck again. “Dan.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Dan laughs. “What?”

“Just—” He rolls his hips, grinding himself up along Dan’s pelvis. “I don’t know.”

“Tell me!” Dan shrieks. He sounds delighted. Even when Phil is an incoherent disaster, Dan is delighted by him. 

“I just… like you. So much. And… and _this_.” He rolls his hips again, and this time they rub together pornographically. 

Dan mutters a quiet but very emphatic, “ _Fuck_.”

“I don’t want to scare you, but I want so much,” Phil admits. “You make me want so much.”

“Tell me.”

Phil shakes his head. 

“I won’t freak out,” Dan promises. “Tell me.” He runs his hands up Phil’s back.

Phil reaches back and grabs one of Dan’s wrists, pushing the hand back down. Dan’s palm is huge. It cups Phil’s cheek and squeezes and it shouldn’t feel like sex just to be groped like that, but it does, and Phil can’t help what it makes him long for.

“Would you let me do that someday?” Dan asks.

Phil snorts. “Would I _let_ you?” he asks incredulously.

“You’d want that?”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“I’m not!” Dan squeezes him harder. “It still feels fucking insane that I’m allowed to kiss you, let alone…”

“I want it,” Phil says. “I want everything.”

“ _Everything_ everything?”

“Eventually. I’m not saying— I’m not asking for anything right now. And never anything you don’t want.”

“I want everything too.” He rolls over so he’s on top. “I don’t know how long it’ll take me to get there, but I do want it.”

“Doesn’t matter how long.” He tilts his face up and kisses Dan’s perfect chapped lips. “I shouldn’t have even said anything, just—” He closes his teeth on Dan’s bottom lip and pulls it away from the gum slightly. “You make me a bit mental, honestly.”

“I’m glad you said it. It makes me feel less like a dirty pervert.”

Phil stops his kissing and the movement of his hips against Dan’s body. He pushes Dan back gently by the shoulders so they can look at each other properly. 

“Dan.”

Dan is chewing on his lip now.

“You’re not that.”

Dan doesn’t say anything.

“You’re not ever that. Do you think of me like that?”

“No,” he says immediately.

“Then why do you think it about yourself?”

Dan doesn’t answer. He lays himself down on Phil’s body and kisses him and gets a hand between them, taking hold of both of them at the same time. They kiss and Dan strokes and Phil clings to him and Dan comes first but he doesn’t stop until Phil has joined him. Phil holds him afterwards and Dan rests his cheek on Phil’s chest.

“I’m trying,” Dan says quietly. “I know the selective phobia makes no sense.”

“It’s okay,” Phil says, combing his fingers through Dan’s hair. 

“For what it’s worth, it already feels different.”

Phil gets a finger under Dan’s chin to tilt his face up so they can look at each other. “It’s okay,” he says again. 

Dan closes his eyes for a minute, like he’s letting that sentiment wash over him. It’s okay. He’s okay. Then he opens them again and grins. “Hey Phil.”

“Yeah?”

“Did you know you have a really great butt?”

-

Phil does their breakfast dishes while Dan sits at the little table, doing his background reading on the film he needs to review. “I don’t do spoilers,” he explains to Phil, voice carrying over the running water. “But I like to see what other films the director and script writers have done. It’s helpful for making connections and figuring out what’s unique to the film and what’s more of a creative pattern.” 

“You’re smart,” Phil says. 

He doesn’t need to see Dan to know he’s rolling his eyes. He doesn’t care. Dan is smart. He’s fucking brilliant. Phil wants the world to know. But he’ll settle for just Dan knowing it. 

He goes a step further when the dishes are done and sprays the counter down, then wipes it clean. He doesn’t do this as often as he should; it’s usually cleaned in the time between when he leaves for work and comes back, which he knows means Dan does it. 

He’s very immersed in scrubbing out the sink when he feels Dan’s eyes on him. He looks up and turns his head and finds Dan sitting ignoring his computer, his chin resting in his palm. 

“What?” Phil asks. 

Dan shrugs. “Nothing.” 

“Hmm.” Phil turns the tap on and sticks his fingers on it, then turns back around and flicks water in Dan’s direction. 

The kitchen is small enough that some of the drops land on Dan, who shrieks and wraps his arms around his laptop. “You absolute fucking spork, what are you doing! You’re going to get my laptop wet!” 

Phil grins and does it again.

-

They start watching the film, and true to his word Phil settles himself between Dan’s legs and leans back against his chest. It’s perfect.

The film, however, is not. It’s rather remarkably uninteresting, and when Dan checks how much of it is left, they’re both dismayed to find they’ve only slogged through about half the run time.

Dan leaves it paused and wraps both arms around Phil’s shoulders, hugging him from behind and burying his face in Phil’s neck. “This movie sucks.”

Phil reaches up and hooks his hand around Dan’s arm, leaning back into the snuggle. “Mm,” he hums in agreement.

“Why are there so many bad films in the world?” Dan murmurs, nosing into the hair behind Phil’s ear. 

“Your standards are too high.”

“Hmm.” Dan’s voice is warm and sweet. “I think there’s something to be said for holding out for something great.”

Phil twists his head round to catch Dan’s mouth with his. “We’re such a cliché right now.”

“Don’t care,” Dan says between kisses. “I’ve never had a boyfriend before, I’m allowed to be sappy.”

Phil smiles against Dan’s mouth. “I love hearing you say it.”

“Boyfriend.” Dan kisses Phil’s nose. “Boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend.” He peppers Phil’s entire face with kisses until Phil dissolves into a fit of giggles. 

“Alright,” Dan declares. “I need to go for a run.”

“What?” Phil whines. “Why?”

“Because I actually need to watch this stupid movie and write a review and you’re distracting me. I need an intermission.”

“I’m not doing anything!”

“You’re being obnoxiously fit. It’s loud and I can’t concentrate.”

Phil can’t help the sheepish smile that spreads across his face. “Shush.”

“You shush.” Dan kisses him once more before pushing him away. “I’m going for a run.”

He lounges on the sofa while he listens to Dan changing clothes. The door is open and he’s tempted to get up and get a better view but it doesn’t actually take Dan that long. Before Phil can even talk himself into getting to his feet, Dan’s back in front of him wearing joggers and a t-shirt that’s tighter than what he’d wear on most days. 

Phil definitely approves. “Maybe next time I will go with you,” he says. 

There’s a spark in Dan’s eye that makes Phil immediately regret saying that. 

Once Dan’s out the door, Phil picks up his phone. Really no time like the present, he thinks, and rings his mum. 

“Child.” Her voice is warm when she answers. 

“Mum,” he says, smiling. He likes that he’s almost back to that place where his mum’s voice makes everything feel right in the world. 

Almost. 

Some things will never feel right again. 

But this is closer to that than he ever thought he’d actually get. 

“Oh, I’d nearly forgotten what your voice sounded like…” She sighs dramatically. “I was just telling Rozzie, I had a dear boy once, used to ring me every day back when he was in uni…” 

“Mum!” Phil laughs. “It’s only been a week. Besides, I’ve been busy.” 

“Mm, that shop you’re working at keeping you so busy?” she asks. 

He’s told her a bit about Stevie, but it’s strange reconciling those two worlds in his mind. 

“Not really,” Phil says. “At least, that’s not why I’ve been so busy.” 

“Well, then?” she asks expectantly. 

“I just…” He isn’t sure what to say. He won’t out Dan to her. It doesn’t matter that they’ve never met. It’s Dan’s decision to make, in this situation and every situation. But he does reckon he can at least give her an idea about his side of it. “I met someone.” 

She’s quiet for so long that he starts to get nervous, but her voice is full of emotion when she says, “Oh, love. Tell me about him. Is it new?” 

“Yeah,” Phil says. “It’s new enough. Only made it official a few days ago. He’s just… he’s great, mum. He’s really great.” 

“I can’t believe it.”

He laughs. Maybe he should be offended, but he knows what she means. And he completely agrees. “Me neither, honestly.”

“Tell me more about him?”

“He’s…” Phil hesitates. She knows Dan writes for a living. She knows quite a bit about him at this point. He’s not sure what he can say without making things obvious. “He’s not out, mum.”

“Well, I don’t need details, love. Tell me how he treats you. How he makes you feel.”

Phil smiles. That he can do. “He makes me happy, I guess, is the biggest thing. Like, _really_ happy, you know? Even when I’m sad. He makes me excited for the future.”

She doesn’t answer, so he keeps going. “He’s so funny and clever. Way more mature than me, even though he’s a bit younger. He’s really kind, even though the world has been cruel to him. He’s just… he’s so _good_. And he’s so good to me.” He’s getting carried away, but he can’t help himself. It’s been so long since he could talk with her like this. It’s been so long since he felt so much enthusiasm for something.

He thinks she’ll be happy to hear it, which is why his stomach sinks when she says, “Oh, Phil,” and it’s clear that she’s crying.

“Mum?”

“I’m sorry.” He can barely make the words out through her emotion. “I’m sorry, love.” Her voice is broken and thin. “I’m so happy for you.” 

These aren’t happy tears, Phil can tell. “Mum…”

She takes a few shuddering breaths. “I’m fine.” 

“Mum,” he says again. He knows she isn’t. 

For a moment more he just listens to her cry. 

“Did you know your dad asked me on a date three times before I said yes?” she says. 

Phil’s heart jumps into his throat. “You’ve told me,” he says softly. It was always something his mum and dad laughed about. He’d used it to goad her and she’d glare and tell him he was lucky she said yes then and they’d laugh and kiss and Phil suddenly finds himself swallowing hard at the memories. 

She sniffs. “I said no because I fancied a good friend of his. We went out one night, the whole lot of us - me and the boy I was going after and your father and some other friends of ours. We went to a dance party and that other boy asked me to dance. I felt like nothing could ever bring me down, I was floating so high. He kissed me on the dance floor and I was planning our wedding in my mind already. But the night wore on and he danced with other girls. Kissed other girls. It wasn’t as though he’d made me any promises, you know? It was just the sort of crowd we were. Well, not your father. I think he only went because he was chasing after me. But the rest of us - it wasn’t that uncommon, to spend half the night out and dance with as many people as we could. I didn’t feel like dancing any more, though. I felt like my heart had been crushed into a thousand pieces. What a dramatic little biddy I was! But it’s how I felt. So I left and I didn’t realize it at first, but your father saw me leave and came after me. He followed me three blocks before I realized he was there. I turned around ready to claw his eyes out - but it was just Nigel. Quiet, sweet Nigel looking at me like he’d seen a ghost. Probably looked it, with my mascara running…” 

Phil’s never heard the story told like this before. He’s never heard about the other guy, or any of this. 

She keeps going. “He asked me if he could walk me home and I said yes. He gave me his jacket to wear and told me I could wipe my eyes on the sleeve, that he didn’t mind. He told me he knew a shortcut - he was ridiculous like that. Didn’t even know where I lived! But oh, he knew a shortcut. He took me through a park and we sat on a bench and that poor, sweet soul - he listened to me cry a bit more over someone I wanted to be special for, and wasn’t.” 

“You were special to dad,” Phil says, voice as raw as his heart feels now. 

“I was,” she says. She sounds like she’s smiling through the tears. “He and I talked until the sun came up that night, right there in that park. After the first hour I wasn’t thinking of anything except how I wished I’d given him a chance sooner. Your dad always looked at me like I was the best person in the room, no matter what room we were in or who else was there. That’s what I want for you.” 

Phil can barely get the words out. “I think I might have it.”

“Then you enjoy it, child.” She takes a long, shaky breath. “It’s a gift, being loved by a person like that. It’s precious.”

In this moment, Phil isn’t thinking about Dan. Listening to his mother cry over the phone, he can’t think about anything besides his dad. Because she’s right. Being loved by Nigel Lester was a gift. It was precious, and he’ll never have it again. All he and Martyn and their mother have left are the memories.

“I miss him,” Phil says.

She can’t answer. She just cries.

And he listens. She may have lost the love of her life, but he wants her to know she’s not alone. She’s still got at least two people in this world who think she’s pretty fucking special.

-

When Dan comes in, he’s red faced and sweaty, and Phil seeks him out like air to breathe. He doesn’t even let Dan get his trainers off before he pulls him into a crushingly tight hug. Dan, bless him, doesn’t question it. He doesn’t crack a single joke. He holds Phil right back, cupping the back of his neck and squeezing. 

“What happened?” Dan asks him after a minute. There’s alarm in his voice but it’s constrained, soothed down, like he’s trying to be calm for Phil. 

“Talked to my mum,” Phil mumbles. 

He isn’t ready to let go yet, but he does. He makes himself. 

Dan takes him in and Phil doesn’t know what he’s probably seeing. Red eyes, blotchy skin. Sadness. The sadness Phil can’t contain leaking out everywhere. 

“Is she… okay?” Dan asks. 

“Just.” Phil steps back. “Just sad. We talked about my dad some. It was… a lot.” 

Dan’s frown deepens. “I’m sorry.” He looks at Phil so intently that Phil starts to feel vulnerable under the gaze. 

“Should we finish your movie?” Phil asks. 

Dan shrugs one shoulder. “We could. Or we could sit and you could talk to me about the call.” 

Phil takes a long breath and lets it out. “I don’t know if I can,” he admits. 

“Then we can just… sit,” Dan says. 

“Okay.” Phil’s voice drops to almost a whisper. “Yeah. That sounds nice.” 

They go to the sofa. Dan lies down, his head on the armrest, and Phil pretty much lays himself down on top of Dan’s body, cheek pressed to Dan’s chest. He can hear Dan’s heart beating. It’s a little on the nose for the whole situation, and it actually makes him laugh.

“What?” Dan murmurs, fingers combing through Phil’s hair.

“It’s just… ridiculous.”

“What is?”

“You. This. How easy it is already. And good..”

“We spent a long time dancing around it,” Dan reminds him. “We’ve been platonically dating each other for months.”

Phil laughs again, turning his head to bury his face in Dan’s shirt. 

“It feels good, but it’s not ridiculous,” Dan says. “And it’s not easy.” He lifts Phil’s face with a hand under the chin. “We earned it.”

Phil nods, biting his lip against the flow of tears that’s threatening to re-emerge. 

Dan leans down and kisses him. “It’s okay to be sad,” he whispers. “It’s okay to miss him.”

So Phil does. He lays his head on Dan’s chest and cries and misses his dad. He wedges his arms between Dan’s back and the cushions of the sofa and clings, squeezes tighter than is probably comfortable and lets himself feel the painful, confusing duality of being heartbroken and in love at the same time. He’s going to cherish the gift he’s been given and mourn the loss of the one that’s been taken away.


	33. Chapter 33

*

*

When Phil walks into the shop, his jaw nearly hits the floor. Stevie is sat on the counter like she always is, and her hair has been chopped so short it just barely grazes her shoulders.

And it’s blue.

“Oh my god!” he shouts.

She jumps, slapping her hand to her chest not unlike Phil’s always doing when Dan startles him. And then she smiles. No— beams. 

“You like?”

He walks up to her and tugs on the end of a chunk of the hair, half expecting to discover that it’s a wig. 

It’s not.

“Ow,” she laughs, swatting his hand away. “Imbécile.”

“You actually did it.”

“I had my uni friend do it for me,” she says, smoothing her hand down over the back of her head. “You and Dan were proper inspirational. And I’d drunk quite a lot of wine.”

He smiles and rolls his eyes. “Of course.”

“Mon chou! Tell me you like it!”

“I love it!” he shouts back. “It’s so you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He touches it again, gentler this time. “It’s so cool.”

“When I shower, it looks like I killed a— what do you call those little blue things?”

“Blueberries?”

She swats him again. “Ferme ta geule, you know what I’m talking about.”

He’s grinning. “Smurfs.”

“Oui, smurfs, that’s it.”

“How does it feel?” he asks. “Do you like it?”

“I… think so?” She scrunches up her nose. “It’s a bit scary. I haven’t so much as gotten it trimmed in a decade and now it’s all gone. And it looks like candy floss.”

“Yeah,” Phil says, echoing his previous sentiment. “So cool.”

“You make being brave look so easy, mon chou.”

He tugs on her hair again. “I learned from the best, didn’t I?”

-

Dan is in his room when Phil gets home from work; Phil can hear his music. He has every intention of going in there and interrupting whatever he’s up to, but first he needs a drink. He kicks off his shoes and heads to the kitchen. He grabs a glass and opens the fridge, hoping for Ribena, but of course there is none. They’ve been putting off groceries for ages. So he accepts his fate and goes to the sink for water, and before he can turn on the tap there are hands on his waist, spinning him around and pinning against the counter.

“Hi,” Phil manages to say just before Dan kisses him.

“Missed you,” Dan murmurs, taking the empty cup from Phil’s hand and placing it carefully on the counter before returning his grip to Phil’s hips. 

Phil loops his arms around the back of Dan’s neck. “It was a very long eight hours,” he concedes, only half sarcastically.

“You’re telling me, mate.” Dan noses at Phil’s jaw. “You left me here all fucking alone.” 

Phil lets himself indulge in the silliness of chasing Dan’s mouth for a kiss. If feels good - and no one is here to see them be ridiculous except each other. So why not? Why hold himself back? 

But then he pulls back and says, “I’m thirsty.” 

Dan’s eyes drops to Phil’s lips. “Me too.” 

Phil laughs and shoves at Dan. “Not like that!” 

“Well, _like that_ for me.” Dan steals another kiss. 

“ _I meant_ like, we don’t have anything to drink here. Or eat, really…” 

“What about the other stuff you bought when your brother was here?” 

Phil gives him a guilty look. “It’s gone.” 

Dan rolls his eyes. “Of course. You’re a human junk food bin.” 

“We can still get a Tesco order in tonight,” Phil says eagerly. 

“God. If only I’d known my real competition for your attention wasn’t some buff ex of yours, but your stomach.” 

“Hmm, is that insecurity I sense?” Phil asks. “Don’t worry, I told you, buff isn’t my type. Especially not right now.”

Dan actually flushes. “Command z that from your memory, please. Don’t we have groceries to order? Right, food, let’s do that.” 

Phil laughs. But it’s not like he hasn’t cyber stalked Dan’s social media accounts himself, embarrassingly early on, just wanting to see if Dan had anyone in his life. All he’d really found was a twitter account with an intimidating number of followers and a lot of one off tweets about sarcasm and cinema and an inordinate amount of Riverdale commentary. “Fine.” 

They sit side by side on the sofa, Dan adding things Phil calls out to the list and then putting the order in. As they sort out what they’re low on and what they might want to make, Phil thinks about how he always enjoyed dates in with Ben where one of them made dinner for the other. 

He can’t exactly surprise Dan like that when they’re putting the order in together. But maybe, he thinks, he’ll take a trip to the store the next time he’s on his way back from work and buy the stuff to make Dan something tasty and vegan.

“What are you smiling at?” Dan asks suspiciously. 

“Nothing.” Phil shrugs and tries his best to look innocent. He knows he’s failing but his mind is full of visions of banishing Dan from the kitchen and then setting the table… maybe he’ll get flowers, too.

Is he being a hopelessly sappy sod right now? Maybe. But he finds no shame in it. 

-

“Remember that time I asked if you wanted to come for a run with me and you said next time?”

Dan is stood shirtless at the foot of Phil’s bed, pulling on a pair of what Phil could only reasonably refer to as leggings.

The view is a very nice one, but he narrows his eyes nonetheless. “No.”

“Yes you do.”

“You have no proof.”

“There have been many next times and I have run them all Phil-less.”

“Da-an,” Phil whines. “You know me. I can’t even walk in a straight line without tripping all over myself.”

“I believe in you, baby.”

Phil scrunches up his nose. “First of all, ew. No. We’re not going to be _that_ couple. Second of all… no.”

“Yes.”

“Yes to which part? Because I’d genuinely rather you call me baby than make me do exercise that doesn’t involve us being naked.”

“Can I call you babe?” He climbs up onto Phil’s bed and collapses heavily on top of Phil’s chest. 

Phil pretends to find the weight of him a nuisance, but is quickly thwarted by his own fondness. He wraps his arms around Dan’s shoulders and asks, “Do you want to?”

“Kind of, yeah. Maybe. I dunno.”

Phil watches the patch above Dan’s jaw flush a deep pink.

“You’re embarrassed,” Phil murmurs. “Why are you embarrassed?”

“I’m not.”

“Dan.”

Dan ducks his face down to hide it in the crook of Phil’s neck.

“Tell me!” 

“Nothing,” Dan mumbles. “I just… kind of unironically want cute pet names. I didn’t know you weren’t into that.”

Phil’s heart melts on the spot. It melts like a candle dripping wax all down his rib cage. “I’m into it,” he says. “I’m so into it.”

“You’re obviously not.”

“I am, shut up. I am. Please call me baby.”

“No,” Dan says petulantly. “You ruined it.”

“Dan.” Phil turns his face and peppers whatever spots of Dan’s skin he can find with kisses. “Dan.”

Dan is trying not to smile, but not doing a very good job of it. 

“Babe,” Phil says. No irony. Then he says it again. “Babe.”

Dan lifts his head a bit. “Shut up.”

“No, I like it.”

“Don’t take the piss,” Dan says quietly. “I’m trying to be, like, vulnerable and shit. I’ve never had pet names.”

“Neither have I,” Phil says, reaching up to tug gently on an errant curl. “And I really freaking love you being vulnerable and shit.”

Dan kisses him. “I hate you.”

“Will you still hate me if I go for a run with you?”

“Might hate you a little less,” Dan admits. 

“Good.” Phil bites on Dan’s bottom lip and pulls at it gently. “Then go find me something of yours I can borrow to run in, babe.” 

-

Dan does let Phil borrow something to wear but after looking at the state of Phil’s trainers he decides the destination to this day’s jaunt is going to be the running store. 

“You need proper shoes. Not just for this, but for like, life,” Dan says. “It fucks up your whole alignment when you don’t.” 

“Are you going to start lecturing me on my posture next?” Phil asks. Sort of asks. Wheezes, maybe. He’s definitely not fit enough for this. 

“Of course,” Dan says. “Your posture is atrocious.” 

Phil shoves at him but ends up just stumbling himself and Dan has to catch him. “Mate. You’re a mess.” 

Phil pouts. “But your mess?” 

“Fuck.” Dan grimaces. “I hate how well that works on me. Don’t think giving me those eyes and saying something flirty will get you out of everything forever.” 

“Probably not,” Phil agrees. “But it will for now so I”m going to milk it.” 

-

They don’t make it to the running store. They barely make it halfway there before Phil is doubled over and demanding a break. They slow to a walk near a park and end up detouring through it, running in short bursts but mostly strolling. 

“The weather is so nice,” Phil murmurs. He’s not much of an outdoors person so he hasn’t actually seen a lot of these sorts of London sights yet during his time living in the city. 

“Don’t say it too loudly,” Dan says. “The rain will hear and show back up. London’s natural state of being is smelly and wet.” 

Phil laughs and looks at Dan. He looks intensely - doesn’t take his eyes off the man beside him. “I dunno,” he says. “I fancy the view right here quite a bit.” 

Dan snorts. “Are you always this cheesy?” 

“I dunno,” Phil says. “Maybe? I guess we’ll find out.” 

The eyeroll he gets doesn’t cancel out the smile on Dan’s face. “Alright,” Dan says, forcing his expression stern again. “You’ve had your break, Lester. Back to it.” 

-

He’s properly sweaty and disgusting when they make it back inside. 

“Dibs on the shower,” he immediately shouts. 

“Oh my fucking christ on a twatwaffle,” Dan groans. “You are such a fucking little brother.” 

Phil lets his younger sibling flag fly free with a response of: “I know you are but what I am.” 

“Just for that I’m beating you into the bathroom,” Dan says. 

Phil grabs onto him from behind and ends up being half dragged down the short hallway. “Nooo,” he whines. “I smell!” 

“Too fucking right you do,” Dan says. “Stew in it.” 

“What if…” Phil slides his hand under Dan’s shirt. Even his stomach is a bit sweaty, which is both disgusting and hot at the same time. “Neither of us went first?” 

“Do you have some kind of sweaty man kink?” Dan asks suspiciously. 

“I mean…” Phil thinks about it. He leans in and carefully bites the curve of Dan’s neck, licking salt away. He likes the way it makes Dan shudder. “Maybe, but I meant the opposite.” 

“Shower together?” Dan asks. “That’s not the worst idea.” 

“I think that’s Dan-speak for _Phil you are an actual genius and that is the best idea I have ever heard, you deserve to be King of the World and president of MEMSA_.” 

“MENSA,” Dan says. “And no, you’re still an idiot. Just an idiot with one good idea.” 

Phil raises his eyebrows suggestively. “I’ve got lots of good ideas.”

Dan lifts up on the bottom of Phil’s shirt, and Phil lifts his arms so Dan can finish the job.

“Here I thought I was the perv in this relationship,” Dan murmurs, rubbing his fingers over the hair on Phil’s chest.

“It’s not pervy to enjoy your partner’s body,” Phil tells him. He hadn’t meant for it to be a profound statement, but as soon as it leaves his mouth, that’s exactly what it feels like.

Dan certainly seems to take it as such. He bites his lip then laces his fingers between Phil’s and pulls him close. He kisses his mouth and says, “You’re the best,” then pulls him towards the bathroom.

Phil starts the water and they undress each other as it warms up. 

It’s surprisingly nerve wracking standing there completely naked from head to toe. They’ve gotten pretty good at kissing and fooling around in bed, but usually they’re cloaked by blankets and sheets, attached at the mouth with little more than wandering hands. Phil hasn’t spent much time actually _looking_ at Dan’s body, and they’ve never done anything more adventurous than traded handjobs.

Showering together probably shouldn’t feel like the next step in their sexual relationship. There’s no guarantee they’re even going to _do_ anything sexual. But it definitely feels to Phil like a new level of intimacy.

“You’re really gorgeous,” he tells Dan, reaching out and touching his waist. “In case you’d forgotten since the last time I told you.”

Dan smiles, and it’s almost unbearable in its sheepish vulnerability. “Shush.” He takes Phil’s hand again and steps into the tub. “Come on.”

Dan lets Phil stand under the water. Maybe because he’s generous, or maybe just because he knows Phil will whinge about being cold if he doesn’t. Phil tips his head back to wet his hair and rinse the sweat from his face.

Dan asks, “Did you ever do this with Ben?”

Phil wipes the water from his eyes and looks at Dan, hoping his panic isn’t registering outwardly. He doesn’t want to lie to Dan, not ever, but… he also kind of does. 

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

Dan nods. “I guess I probably shouldn’t ask that.”

“I don’t want to upset you.”

Dan shrugs. “It’s not you. I’m just stupid and jealous sometimes.” He wraps his arms around Phil’s waist and presses himself against Phil’s front. “I wish I could be all your firsts.”

“You are, though.” Phil very carefully spins them around so Dan is stood under the spray. “You’re my first Dan shower.”

Dan smiles, bumping his forehead into Phil’s. “That’s true. That’s something.”

“It’s everything.”

“I didn’t know having a boyfriend would turn me into such a cheesy fucking loser.”

“My favourite cheesy loser.” Phil kisses him. “Anyway, we match.”

Dan smiles again, then asks, “Will you wash my hair?”

“I would wash any part of you,” Phil says. 

He’s being very earnest but his heart does give a twinge at Dan’s little laugh. 

“I don’t think we’re at bum washing territory yet,” Dan says. 

“But we’ll get there?” Phil asks, reaching for the shampoo. 

“Yeah,” Dan says. His chin juts out at a determined angle. “We’ll get everywhere. I don’t want there to be anything that anyone else had with you that I can’t.” 

Phil’s heart pangs. He doesn’t want Dan looking at it like that. But he also doesn’t want to discourage Dan because as much as they understand each other he feels like Dan’s fragility with this, with relationships, with _them_ is something he needs to be careful with. 

Instead of agreeing or disagreeing he kisses Dan. His mouth keeps Dan occupied while his fingers find their way into Dan’s hair and rub until suds coat his fingers. He massages Dan’s scalp well past the point where he needs to, but he just likes the way Dan makes noises when Phil rubs at the base of Dan’s neck. 

He pulls away slowly and pushes back on Dan’s forehead at the same time until Dan gets the message and tips his head under the spray. Phil strokes through wet curls plastered with shampoo and rinses them clean. 

“I wanna take a bath with you one night,” Phil says. He’s not trying to be seductive, he’s just talking to Dan the only way he knows how to talk to Dan. If his breath comes out a little deeper, a little softer - it’s just what feels right. “I want to do a proper one. Candles and a fancy bath bomb and oils in the water that make your skin smell nice. And I want to soak with you, have you sit between my legs and just wrap my arms around you and feel you and the water.” 

Dan’s breathing harder when they finish but Phil doesn’t look down, doesn’t look between them. He keeps his eyes on Dan’s and keeps his hands on Dan and keeps his heart in the moment. 

“Fuck,” Dan says, pressing his forehead against Phil’s again. “Yeah.” 

“My turn?” Phil asks. His voice cracks slightly. 

Dan nods and puts his hands on Phil’s hips and turns them both. Their cocks brush - neither completely soft, neither completely hard - and Phil has to shut his eyes or he’s going to look. 

He’s not sure why he thinks he shouldn’t look. It just feels like - something. Like a rule. Like a boundary. 

He isn’t expecting Dan’s hand sliding between their bodies the way it does. Phil gasps and hooks one arm around Dan’s neck. He says, thready and desperate in a way that comes more from his heart than his hard on, “Dan—” 

“Yeah,” Dan says, kissing Phil’s neck and shoulder, lips pressing water from the spray into his skin. 

“That’s not my hair.” Phil manages a weak joke. 

Dan snickers. “I know. Do you mind?” 

“Um—” Phil shakes his head. “No. Not at all. No minding here. I am mindless.”

“Well,” Dan says. “I believe that.” 

His fingers wrap around Phil and Phil does look then. He can’t not look. He looks and sees the press of Dan’s fingers against himself. He feels short-circuited by the sight and the feeling and how they connect and he has to adjust how he’s standing, press his feet more firmly against the slickness of the shower floor. 

“You went on a run for me,” Dan whispers. 

“Mhm.” 

“You’re gonna go on another.” 

“Um.” Phil wants to argue that he didn’t actually say that but he’s also aware that he definitely will if it’s important to Dan. 

“You know me and you haven’t run away screaming.” 

“Never,” Phil says. His other arm joins the first, clinging to Dan as Dan’s hand works between them. 

“You actually fucking like me.” 

“So much,” Phil says. “Dan, I like you so much.” 

“God.” Dan’s panting like he’s the one being brought off, like he’s the one already on the verge of losing it.

“Dan.”

“Hm?”

“I can’t wait to keep showing you how much I like you.”

Dan smiles. “Shh, shut up, Phil. I’m trying to show _you_.”

“You’re doing a really good job.”

“Shut _up_.” He twists his wrist just so, and Phil gasps.

“Before you, I would’ve said I had at least a respectable amount of stamina,” he manages to say, though the threads of his own thoughts are getting harder to follow.

“You’re the nerdiest dirty talker ever,” Dan breathes, leaning in and biting Phil’s shoulder.

“I’m just trying to tell you I’m close.”

“Yeah, idiot.” Dan kisses up Phil’s neck to his mouth. “I got that.”

Phil kisses back with relish. It’s the perfect distraction. 

As is reaching out and closing his own fist over Dan. The firmness he finds there is a pleasant affirmation that he no longer needs, but enjoys anyway. He knows Dan likes him. He knows Dan is attracted to him. It feels real now, but it’s still a thrill to be confronted with the proof.

He still finishes faster than his ego would like, but it feels too incredible to be of any real concern. 

And working towards getting Dan off is even more fun when he isn’t distracted by chasing his own release. He can focus on the sounds, the intensity, the purity of doing something for someone else. Of making this person he’s so enamoured with feel this good. 

When it’s over, they stand there for a minute just holding each other. Phil’s body is starting to make its soreness known. He’s not looking forward to the next run, but if they all culminate in showers like these, he reckons he might actually be able to get fit.

“Our first shower sex,” Phil murmurs, rubbing his fingers through the drops of water on Dan’s back.

Dan says, “We should do sofa next.”

“Oh.” Phil lifts his head. “Yeah?”

Dan nods. “And then kitchen.”

Phil can’t help laughing in surprise. “Kitchen? Really?”

“I’m not a perv,” Dan says. “I just want you everywhere.”

“Well,” Phil says, laughing into Dan’s shoulder with the water still falling over both of them. “I guess we’d better make a list.” 

-

“I can’t believe you won’t give me any details!” Stevie says, pout out in full force. 

“Sorry,” Phil says. “I don’t kiss and tell. Or shag and tell.” 

“Shag.” She laughs. “You have the soul of a person out of date.” 

“My mum says shag!” Phil protests. 

She gives him one of those looks and he realizes that he just made her point for her. 

“We’re taking it slow, anyway,” Phil says. 

“Comme c'est pittoresque! That’s sweet.” She speaks, then must see something in his face. “Is it not?” 

“No, it is,” Phil says. “I mean, it’s fine. It’s just - scary, sometimes, I guess. I’m Dan’s first real relationship.” 

“Never?” She looks surprised. 

“Well,” Phil amends. “He had a girlfriend when he was a teenager. So I guess I mean his first adult relationship.” 

“I imagine that does feel like a lot of responsibility,” she says. 

“It’s weird,” Phil says. “Because I was Ben’s first boyfriend, too. But it felt different because he was mine at the same time. We learned together, I guess? But with Dan I feel like it’s my job to make sure he has a good experience.” 

Stevie is frowning at him. “What of your experience, then?” 

“My experience will be fine.” He dismisses that out of hand. “I mean, it’s Dan. How could I not be happy.” 

The frown disappears, replaced by a soft smile. “You lovesick fool.” 

He shrugs sheepishly. “I mean. I guess. Yeah. I am.” 

“You know you cannot protect him, though, don’t you? Loving means being vulnerable. He could hurt you, you could hurt him. You will, probably. Sometimes it hurts to love.”

Phil is quiet for a bit, gathering his thoughts “I used to think my mum and dad had the perfect story. They loved each other so much. They used to walk hand in hand down the beach when we’d go to visit my grandparents. Or when we’d go on holiday there was always at least one night when they’d go off on a date by themselves. Once I heard them coming in really late - I was younger, like twelve or thirteen. I was afraid it was a home invader so I walked to the stairs - dunno what I thought I’d do, probably just run screaming to my brother’s room if I had seen someone. But it was just them - they were standing at the bottom of the stairs kissing.” 

Stevie brings a hand to her heart and makes a sweet noise. 

“I mean, I was thirteen, I thought it was the grossest thing I’d ever seen.” Phil laughs. “But that’s just how they were. They loved each other so, so much. They were going to grow old together and be that doddy old couple that sat in matching chairs in the garden watching the sunsets. But he hurt her in the worst way possible, by leaving her all alone.” 

There are tears in Stevie’s eyes now. “He couldn’t help that.”

“I know.”

“And she’s not alone. She has you and your brother. And I bet she wouldn’t give that up for anything, nor the time she got to spend with your dad.”

Phil nods. “I know. I do know that. It’s just terrifying. He’s such a special person. And sometimes I’m an idiot. I’m not perfect, and he deserves perfect.”

“Mon chou. No one is perfect.”

He sighs. “I know. It’s just… he’s been hurt by so many people. And he trusts me.”

“For good reason.”

“I don’t even really know what I’m saying. I guess I just forgot. How intense it can be. Like, sometimes loving something so much can actually… hurt?”

She squeezes his arm, but doesn’t say anything, just looks at him with compassion. She has this way of wringing the truth out of him without even needing to say anything at all. Sometimes truths he hadn’t even been consciously thinking about.

“I guess it makes sense, doesn’t it?” he asks. 

“It does. To love is to be vulnerable. And Dan isn’t the only one who’s recovering from being hurt.”

That hits him hard. He bites his lip against the sudden urge to weep. “We’re never not going to be recovering, are we?”

She smiles sadly. “I don’t know, mon chou. I wish I had all the answers for you.”

“I’m sorry I treat you like a therapist.”

“You don’t.” She strokes her thumb against his arm. “We’re friends. You’re just talking to me like a friend.”

“I’m really happy with Dan. He makes me happy.”

“I know. And you make him happy, too. But no one can be happy all the time, and that’s okay.”

“You and Théo are happy, right?”

“Very. We’re about as different as two people can be, but I think we balance each other out.”

“But sometimes it hurts?”

She nods. “But here is a secret. Hurting together is better than hurting alone, and celebrating the other side of it is also better with someone.” 

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger?” Phil guesses. 

Stevie laughs. “Something like that. Though you are plenty strong, mon chou. And so is Dan. You’ll be gentle with each other even through the hurt.” 

“Thanks.” Phil surreptitiously wipes at his eyes. Stevie walks around the counter to him and holds his arms out. He stays seated and it makes them the perfect height match for her to give him a tight, warm hug. “You give the best hugs.” 

“Yes,” she agrees. “It’s the breasts. Extra padding. Like fluff pillows.” 

He almost snorts with laughter this time, pulling away. “Seriously, thank you.” 

“And thank you.” She pats his cheek. “You are an excellent employee, as well.”

He makes a questioning sound at that. 

She smiles. “When I hired you I told you that a job requirement was having an exciting personal life. Yours has provided not only excitement but _heart_. You are raising the bar for all those that come after you.”

“Oh, well,” Phil says, grinning. “I’m glad then, I guess.” 

She drops a kiss on his cheek and then pats it again. “Alright, now get back to work. We’ve got a class coming in.”


	34. Chapter 34

*

*

Phil is dreaming. 

He’s a kid again, and it must be in Florida because there's sand under his toes and sun soaking warmth into his skin.

He turns and he sees his parents under a great big pink umbrella. His mum looks like the eternal snapshot of her that lives in his mind's eye, the same number of lines around her eyes as when he'd crawl into her bed after a nightmare. 

His dad looks older. There's gray shot through his hair and his skin has lost its elasticity. Phil's heart starts to race a bit and he begins to run toward his dad, but he can't find traction in the grains underfoot. 

He feels tears gathering inside and they bust out messily, tracking down his face. His dad sees him and frowns and walks over to him, having none of the trouble Phil is with moving across the beach. 

"Now, then," he says, that same deep voice that always wrapped around Phil like a cloak of comfort and protection. He picks Phil up and Phil hugs him tight and all he smells is his dad's cologne and the faint scent of cigar smoke that would cling to him after a night out with his friends, no matter how much his wife fussed at him for it. His hand is strong and big as it rubs up and down Phil's back. "None of that. Your old dad's got you." 

Suddenly he's not a child anymore and he's not on a beach. He doesn't open his eyes but he hears the sound of London behind him. There's a pigeon cooing and he hears Dan's voice saying, "Phil?" and another hand on his waist. 

He's glad Dan's there. But he can't let go of his dad. 

He'd like to. His dream self wants to. His dream self wants to pull his dad by the arm into their flat, to tell him all about Dan, to have Dan laugh at his Dad's corny jokes. He wants it so badly he can taste it but then the city is gone. 

The city is gone. Everything feels like it's going. 

"Please don't go," Phil cries. He's in a field of grass grown up too high and he knows what it is but he can't think the name. His dad feels frail, like he did right toward the end. "Please." 

"What did I say, then?" Nigel asks in the dream. "I've got you. I'm right here." 

But his touch on Phil's back is growing fainter and fainter and it doesn't matter how hard Phil tries to hold on, his mind won't let him have that solace even as a figment inside of itself. 

-

He feels tired as soon as he wakes up. 

Dan is still asleep beside him, and he does have a smile to spare for that. He loves that head of messy curls, that slightly open mouth drooling onto the pillow. He thinks about nudging Dan awake and demanding a cuddle, but right now the dream weighs heavy on his mind and one hold can't substitute the other. 

So he creeps quietly out of bed and he makes himself a coffee and then he just... sits. He sits staring into space playing the dream over and over in his mind. He almost cries and maybe that would be better, maybe it would be an outlet, but he doesn't and so the feeling sits heavy on his chest and rots away at any chance he might have had for a good day. 

Dreams are all he'll ever have now. Flickers of what his mind chooses to grace him with, be it good or bad. There are so many things he'll never have again. Florida holidays with his entire family. Father's Day visits to more than a cemetery. A family dinner with every chair filled. 

He'll never get to bring his boyfriend home to meet everyone. 

His dad will never know Dan. 

-

Dan wakes up a few hours later, wandering into the lounge looking sleepy and adorable and confused. He’s wearing an old t-shirt of Phil’s and a pair of small black pants, and Phil hates that he’s too lost in his grief to enjoy it. 

“There was an egregious lack of naked Phil in my bed when I woke up,” he pouts, flopping down onto the sofa and draping his legs over Phil’s lap.

Phil tries to smile. “Ha,” he says, and it sounds horribly flat. He rubs the hair on Dan’s shin. “Sorry.”

Dan sits up, and bless him, he’s already sensed something isn’t right. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Phil says, then, seeing how entirely disbelieving Dan is, adds quickly, “Tired, I guess.”

“How long have you been up?”

Phil shrugs. “Couple hours? Maybe three.”

Dan pulls his phone out to check the time. “The fuck? Why’d you get up so early?” He frowns. “Are you feeling poorly?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I’m fine,” Phil says, gently pushing Dan’s legs to the side so he can stand up. “I’m gonna make more coffee, you want some?”

“Phil, what the hell is going on?”

Phil stops, halfway to the kitchen. He pushes his glasses up and rubs at his eyes, hoping they don’t look too red from the crying earlier. His throat hurts, and his head hurts, and emptiness fogs over everything that should be making him happy. He’s got a day off. He’s got the whole day to spend with an amazing person who happens to make every day the best day. He’s got just about everything going for him right now, and he doesn’t know how to tell Dan that today it just doesn’t feel like enough.

How can he say that, actually, right now, Dan being wonderful just makes everything hurt all that much more? He can’t. He can’t say that. 

So he says, “Nothing. I just… had dreams.”

Dan gets up off the sofa. “Bad ones?”

“No.” His voice wavers. He clears his throat. “They weren’t bad.” His chin is quivering.

“Babe,” Dan says softly, walking up to him and rubbing a big hand across Phil’s shoulder blade.

Phil can feel the warmth of Dan’s palm through his shirt, and then he starts to cry.

Dan holds him, rubbing his back. Phil doesn’t have much energy left for hysterics, so he just stands there limply, letting his eyes leak their sadness into Dan’s shirt. His shirt. 

“You know you can talk to me,” Dan says. “You know that.”

“I know,” Phil says. And he’s telling the truth; he does know. He’s certainly sat listening to Dan talk enough hours lately, and he would do it for a hundred thousand more hours if it was what Dan needed. It’s something new for him - that intimacy, that vulnerability, the sheer intense connection that comes from knowing a person you want to know inside and out that feels the same way about you. 

Maybe part of the problem is how new a feeling that is for Phil. He knows he can talk to Dan. He knows Dan will listen and Dan won’t judge him. Dan will hold him just like Dan’s holding him now. The words feel big and heavy inside him and he doesn’t have the strength to lift them up from within and give them a voice. 

Dan waits, though. He lets Phil take as much time as he needs and eventually Phil pulls back and wipes at his eyes and says, “My dad. I had dreams about my dad.” 

“Oh.” A deeper understanding dawns on Dan’s face. “Fuck. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” 

Phil nods. He tells Dan about his dreams sometimes - always has, because they’re often outlandish, and usually pull from his daily life. Dan’s phone is probably full of texts from Phil about what adventures he’s gone on while he was sleeping. 

But Dan’s right. Phil hasn’t dreamt about his dad in a while and he’s never really had a dream like this about him. He’s never had one that left him feeling this way. 

He misses Dan’s arms and the borrowed warmth of them so he steps forward and lifts his arms, making loose fists against Dan’s back. Dan takes the hint and wraps Phil back up in a warm hold. 

-

Eventually Phil moves back to the sofa and Dan makes them coffee and toast. It’s all Phil really wants to eat but once it’s in front of him he just nibbles. 

“Never seen you not hungry before,” Dan comments. “I think that’s the most worrying thing of all.”

Phil gives him a wan smile. “I’m okay, really. I’m just…” 

“Sad?” Dan asks. 

“Sad,” Phil agrees. 

“What would help?” Dan asks. “Do you want to call your mum?” 

He thinks of the conversation where he told her about Dan and the way she cried and he shakes his head. “Maybe later.” 

“Your brother?” 

“I don’t even know where he is right now,” Phil says. “He probably doesn’t have any service and I don’t even know what time it would be.” 

“Do you need… space?” Dan asks. 

“No,” Phil says. He reaches out and finds Dan’s hand, tugging it into his lap. “Not that. I just may not be great company.” 

“You’re always great company, Phil.” Dan squeezes his hand. “Anyway, I have depression, remember? I’m not great company for like half my life.” 

Phil frowns. “That’s not true.” 

“We’re not talking about me,” Dan says, dodging the comment. Normally Phil would want to chase the self-doubt out of him more thoroughly but today he doesn’t have the energy, he lets it go. 

“Maybe…” Dan starts. “Maybe you can show me some of those photo albums you have? You had a dream about him, we can just… lean into it. Tell me about him.” 

Something in Phil cracks at that. It’s too close to the dream. 

All he’ll ever be able to do is tell Dan about his dad. Dan will never get to meet him. He’ll never know Nigel Lester’s laugh or feel one of his hugs. It’s not even something Phil, in all the grief he’s had to wade through before, has even considered. It feels like a new loss, like sharp fresh grief where he thought he was beginning to settle. 

But if this is the best he’ll ever get, maybe he should. He looks up at Dan’s alarmed face, blurry through the fresh wetness in his eyes. 

“We definitely don’t have to,” Dan says.

Phil shakes his head, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I want to.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. “I’m gonna be a mess. So I understand if that’s too much for you. If you need to get away for awhile, or if you want me to leave—”

“Phil. Stop.”

“Okay.”

“We can do whatever you want. If you want me to listen to you cry, I can do that. If you want to watch a movie or go for a walk or have sex or watch me play Zelda— whatever. I’ll do whatever.”

Phil sniffles. “I want to tell you about him.”

Dan rubs Phil’s thigh. “I’d like that.”

Phil leads Dan by the hand to his bedroom, then pulls out the albums he’d had so much trouble unpacking in the first place. His hands shake as he carries them over to the bed where he and Dan both sit cross legged in the center. 

Phil opens one at random to a photo of Martyn as a boy sat on his dad’s shoulders. They’re both wearing Mickey Mouse hats.

“Is that In Florida?” Dan asks.

Phil nods. “When we were little we always insisted on going to Disney first thing even though we always complained about the heat and the lines.”

“Did you like rollercoasters?”

“Yeah. Dad didn’t, but mum did. He’d always go on with us anyway.”

“My mum did that for me once,” Dan says. “It was just me and her and my grandma. She hated rollercoasters, but she didn’t want me to have to ride alone. I can’t remember what ride it was anymore but she rode it with me like ten times in a row.”

“That's a really nice memory.”

“Yeah,” Dan says. “Anyway. Sorry. It’s not about me.”

Phil shakes his head. “I like hearing your nice memories.” He turns the page in the album. There are so many photos from Florida. Gatorland and crazy golf and sunny beaches, kitschy restaurants and antique shops, sunburned Phils and freckled Martyns. 

When he comes across one of his parents posing together, his dad’s arm over his mum’s shoulders, the tears start again and Phil has to hide his face in the crook of his elbow and let them flow freely. Dan keeps his hand on Phil’s leg, giving him space but only so much. 

“He looks like he was fun,” Dan says. 

Phil nods, wiping his eyes. He must look an absolute mess, and his head is starting to pound. “He was funny. And really weird.”

“Just like you.” There’s so much affection in Dan’s voice. 

“Maybe even more.” 

“I can’t imagine having a funny dad.”

Phil shrugs. “He wasn’t always funny. I mean, he wasn’t perfect, you know? He did shout at me a lot when I was little. I wasn’t the easiest child to deal with, if my mum can be believed, and he wasn’t always the most patient.”

Dan doesn’t say anything, just waits for Phil to get out whatever he’s got to say.

“And he was always low key disapproving of certain stuff about me. At least when I was younger. Before he knew I was gay.” He turns the page. “I think once there was like, an explanation for why I hated sport and wasn’t manly, it made things easier for him.”

Dan frowns.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do,” Dan says. “But I still hate it.”

“I guess I don’t remember that stuff as much anymore,” Phil admits. “When I remember him, I remember the good stuff. Like him purposely messing up the lyrics to Christmas songs to drive my mum mental and make me and Mar laugh. And his art. And the way he’d always pretend to like the meals my mum cooked even though they were usually god awful. And how much he loved crazy golf despite how rubbish he was at it.”

“I think that’s normal,” Dan offers. “To remember the good stuff.”

Phil nods. “You would have liked him,” he says quietly. “I reckon he would have liked you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Phil says. “I reckon. But—” His voice breaks. “I’ll never know. Because I can’t ever introduce you.”

Dan squeezes Phil’s leg.

The realization hits Phil again, no less devastating than it had been earlier. “My dad will never get to meet the person I love.”

Dan’s face does a really strange thing. His eyes go wide and his mouth opens then closes again like a fish. He shifts on the bed and then clears his throat and it takes about that long for Phil to realize what he said. 

But he doesn’t walk it back. He doesn’t want to. They’re going in that direction already, he’s sure. 

“I wish I could have met him,” Dan says. 

Phil picks up another book. He smiles at the very first picture. “That was me after I tried to dye my hair. I was about to start the same school Martyn went to, I was finally old enough, and I thought I needed to be extra cool so I’d stand out. Martyn always had friends, you know? And I didn’t really. Not then, at least. So I thought - Martyn’s got blond hair. If I dye my hair blond then I’ll be just as ace as Martyn is and everyone will love me.” 

“Um.” Dan bites his lip and laughs. “That’s not blond, is it?” 

“Nope. Bright orange. My mum apparently had no issue letting me dye my hair, she just didn’t tell me how. I was mortified, and people definitely teased me over it.” 

“How long was it like that?” 

“Not too long,” Phil says. “I think dad made mum help me dye it back to my natural colour before we went to visit my grandparents. My grandad was always really weird about things like that… I guess he was just very into gender roles or something. A few years later I started dyeing my hair for real and he was a bit mean about it.” 

As he speaks Phil flips a few pages until he finds a spread of Christmas ones, and then taps a picture of his grandfather.

“That was him?” Dan asks. He studies the picture, then the other ones on the pages. When he’s done, he looks at Phil. “You look a lot like your mum.” 

“Yeah, I think so. More as I get older, maybe. When I was younger I feel like I didn’t resemble either of them. I got so afraid I was adopted, I’d ask Martyn over and over. Martyn always told me yeah but my natural birth parents were aliens.” 

Dan looks at him. “I mean, there may be something to that.” 

“Oi!” Phil says, laughing. It feels like the first time he’s actually laughed today. 

“I’m just saying,” Dan says. “You have an alien head, mate. Can you even wear hats?” 

“... no,” Phil admits. “But my head just has to be that big to hold all of my intellect, charm, and wit.” 

Dan reaches up and strokes his fingers through Phil’s hair. “Yeah, reckon that actually is it.” 

Phil feels that soft caved in feeling of affection sweep over him. He leans in, forehead to Dan’s forehead, and then tilts his face for a kiss that Dan gives readily. “Thank you,” Phil says. “For all of this.” 

Dan wraps an arm around Phil and kisses his temple. “It’s what you do for people you love.” That spot on his cheek flushes pink and Phil kisses him again, something that lingers a little longer. 

He’s full of so much pain today. It’s raw and immediate in a way it hasn’t felt in a while, and yet… there’s room for more now. There’s room for the heart bursting joy that being with Dan provides. 

“I just thought of something,” Phil says.

“Mm, what’s that?”

“You said you’d be willing to distract me with sex.”

Dan barks out a laugh. “Yeah, s’pose I did.”

“You’re a really good boyfriend, you know that?”

“Is that the bar?” Dan asks playfully. “All I have to do is put out?”

Phil knows he’s only joking, but it still makes him feel awful inside. “That’s not the bar. Not at all.”

Dan’s smile drops. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Sometimes you have to let me be nice to you,” Phil says. “I know you’ve not had a lot of practice with that, but you can’t deflect anymore. Not with me.”

Dan gently pushes the albums aside and pulls Phil up onto his lap. “Let’s start over. Tell me again.”

Phil links his arms around the back of Dan’s neck. “You’re a really good boyfriend, Dan Howell.” He drops his face down to meet Dan’s, their foreheads bumping.

Dan smiles, tilting up to catch Phil’s mouth again. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

“If I thought I was capable of sex right now, I’d want it very badly.”

Dan rubs his back. “It’s okay. I was just throwing out whatever popped into my head.”

“Is it okay if I want to keep looking at photos that make me sad?”

“Of course.”

“Thinking about the fact that I’ll…” He clears his throat. “I’ll never see him again. That makes me feel like I’m going to crack in half. But I still want to do it.”

“Alright then,” Dan says. “That’s what we’re gonna do.” 

-

Four hours later, Phil has cried as many tears as he thinks his body can produce. He still feels fragile, but lighter too; he’s gone through years of memories with Dan, telling stories until his voice is raw, hearing some of Dan’s own. 

Eventually they close the last book and just lie there on Phil’s bed together for a while. Phil falls asleep and he thinks Dan does too but the nap only lasts an hour or so before Phil’s growling stomach wakes him up. 

“I heard that,” Dan mumbles. 

“No you didn’t.” Phil snuggles his face into Dan’s shoulder. 

“Mm. I did.” Dan pauses talking to yawn a massive yawn. “It’s alright, though. We haven’t eaten today. I’m hungry. Could you eat?” 

Phil smiles a little. “Can’t I always?”

He feels Dan kiss the top of his head. “What are you in the mood for?” 

“Curry?” Phil says, because it’s the first thing that comes to his mind. “I want some garlic naan.” 

“Carbs.” Dan moans. “Yes. You’re a smart man. I can just go pick up something from that place we liked last time, it’s only a few minutes away.” 

“Yes, please,” Phil says. “I can start the laundry we meant to do today.” 

“No you can’t,” Dan says. “You stay your ass on the sofa and watch some mindless television. That’s an order.” 

Phil manages another smile. “Alright, fine. If it’s an order.” 

He watches Dan get dressed in clothes that come from Phil’s dresser. Once he hears the door shut, he does sit up. He could start the laundry. But he ends up reaching for one of the photo albums again instead, turning the pages idly. 

He lands on one that’s a picture of his parents at someone’s birthday party. The year is written on the back but he can’t actually remember if the party was for him or Martyn or one of their cousins. There aren’t enough details in the photo to determine, but it doesn’t really matter. It’s his parents standing under a trellis, his mum looking at the camera with a big smile while his dad looks right at her. 

His eyes get damp again but no more tears come out. Instead he peels back the plastic covering keeping the photo safe in the pages of the album and pulls it free. 

He closes the book but keeps that photo out. He doesn’t have a lot in terms of decoration in his room - the framed phallic art, of course, and that’s not going anywhere. 

But he thinks maybe being able to look at his father’s face every day would be a good thing. Maybe eventually, on another day when he feels like letting in the pain, he can look through his facebook or his phone galleries for more recent years and find a few more. 

But for now… this feels like enough.


	35. Chapter 35

*

*

“What do you think of this?”

Phil cocks his head to the side. They’re stood in the middle of some unconscionably posh clothing store and Dan is holding up something black and lacy. Phil can’t even tell what it is at first. 

So he asks. “What is it?”

“It’s a shirt, dingus.” Dan holds it out for Phil to take, and Phil does.

“Oh, right.” It’s a black lacy button up. Though, he wonders, can it really be called a shirt if it’s completely see through?

“Well?” Dan asks, standing beside the rack and biting his lip.

“Yeah, it’s nice,” Phil says, shrugging. “For who, though?”

Dan rolls his eyes, but his face is rosy in patches. “Me, Phil. For me.”

Phil’s eyes go wide, and he looks at the flimsy piece of fabric with fresh eyes. “Wait, seriously?”

“Is that a good wait, seriously?”

Phil says, “If you wore this with nothing underneath, your nipples would be on show.”

“True.” Dan tries to be surreptitious about looking around to make sure no one else is within earshot of their conversation, but Phil doesn’t mind. Things are good between them. More than good, really. Dan’s closet is made of frosted glass at best, and Phil doesn’t begrudge him his need for it. 

“That should make my opinion clear,” Phil says. “I’m definitely pro nip.”

Dan smirks. “Shut up you thirsty bitch. I’m serious.”

Phil rubs the lace between his fingers. He’s not necessarily proud of the fact that he’s picturing Dan wearing it with absolutely nothing else. “Yeah?” he asks. He wants to be careful with his words, even if his thoughts have landed squarely in a fantasy. “You like it?”

“Yeah.” He reaches out to take it back. His voice goes a little quieter. “I’ve always liked stuff like this. Just never been brave enough to even think of actually wearing it.”

Emotions explode inside Phil’s chest, pride chief among them. “I think it’d look bloody ace on you,” he says, wishing he could pull Dan into a crushing hug. 

Dan narrows his eyes. “Can’t tell if you’re taking the piss.”

“I’m definitely not.”

“Should I get it?”

“Hell yeah,” Phil says. “It’s just… you. Your style.” 

“Is that a bad thing?” Dan asks. 

Phil wants to be a little sad that Dan even questions it, that Dan thinks Phil would say something like that if the answer was bad. But he knows that in Dan’s head sometimes these things just get a little mixed up. Sometimes when he looks at Phil he seems like he’s searching for answers that he can really only find in himself, but Phil doesn’t mind if his words help keep Dan on the right path while he tries to find them. 

“Not at all,” Phil says. “You just like things that are a little unique. I mean, I walk into Topman and come out with seven different t-shirts. You find things that really fit you, you know? Like that one really long checked shirt you have. Or the one with all the weird strings?” 

“I haven’t worn that one in ages,” Dan says. He’s still holding the lace shirt, like he’s hoping if he keeps it in his hands long enough he’ll stop feeling weird about it. Like he doesn’t want to let it go. 

“I saw it in your closet,” Phil says. “It looks like one of those parachute things.” 

Dan laughs. “Alright, to the charity shop it is.” 

“Nooo!” Phil whines. “That’s not a bad thing! I think it’s fun. Something to hold onto while I kiss you.” 

He says the last part quietly and then watches with delight as Dan fights bashfulness again. “Jesus Christ,” Dan mutters. “You have to stop making me feel like a bloody teenager.” 

“I will when you stop making me feel the same way.” Phil grabs Dan’s arm and tugs him along, not giving him a chance to put the shirt back. 

-

The shopping trip was an impromptu idea, spurred on that morning by Dan whining about nothing to wear to his quarterly in-person meeting with his manager and by Phil’s general restlessness being cooped up in the flat. 

Not that spending time alone with Dan wasn’t top of his list to do. But the weather was perfect and he wanted to go for a walk and Dan wanted something new to wear. 

And he does have something to wear to that meeting. - an Alexander McQueen shirt from the upscale charity shop he introduced Phil to. Which makes two things Phil has learned about Dan today - he enjoys nice clothing and finding them within his budget, and he has a thing for lace. 

Or maybe he just has a thing for sexy clothes. Maybe having someone to appreciate him in them and validate them makes a difference. Maybe Phil is very, very eager to do that validating and is secretly hoping Dan will want to wear the shirt for him later. 

-

As it turns out, he does. As soon as they get home from a late lunch, Dan announces it like he’s been thinking about it as much as Phil has. 

“I’m gonna model my new shirt for you.”

Phil hasn’t even gotten his shoes off. “Um, yes please.”

“You’re not allowed to laugh if it looks daft.”

“Guarantee you it won’t look daft, and laughing is the last thing I’m gonna do.”

Dan raises his eyebrows. “Yeah? What’s the first?”

“Depends.”

“On what?” 

“On whether or not you’ll be offended if I objectify the hell out of you?”

Dan smiles like he’s trying not to but just can’t help himself. “Shut up.” He gestures to the sofa. “Wait there. I’m gonna get changed.”

“This feels like Christmas,” Phil says, doing as he’s told and sinking into the crease he’s carved for himself in what is still technically Dan’s couch. “Sexy Christmas.”

“I’m not sexy.”

Phil just rolls his eyes. “Okay, we get it, you’re super humble and down to earth blah blah. Go put on the sexy shirt already.”

Dan flips him the bird before heading to his bedroom.

And then Phil waits.

And waits.

And waits, definitely longer than it should take for Dan to swap one shirt for another. 

He’s halfway to Dan’s room to check on him when his phone starts to ring. He picks it up thinking maybe it’ll be Dan, but it’s his mum’s name that greets him. 

A big part of him wants to ignore it. Call back later. He’s really not up for another emotional upheaval of a conversation, but the guilt that blossoms at the thought of screening her like that leads him to swipe open on the call. “Hey mum.”

“Child! I have news for you.”

He’s stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall with his phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

“Oh, do at least try to sound like you’re interested, Philip.”

“I am!” he protests. “Sorry, I was just…” He looks over at Dan’s door. “Anyway. What’s up?”

She says something, but he doesn’t actually hear it, because at that precise moment Dan opens his door wearing just a pair of Calvins and his new shirt. It’s buttoned all the way up to his neck, but the skin Phil can see through the lace makes his brain go blank for a second.

His mum says, “Phil.”

“Huh?” He can’t take his eyes off Dan. 

It’s more than just a shirt. It’s the way Dan is holding himself. It’s the implication of wearing a shirt like that with as much confidence as he is now. 

“I said I’m coming home, child.”

“You are?”

Dan leans against his door jamb, looking quietly smug, as well he should. Phil can’t tear his eyes away. He can’t bring himself to internalize what his mother is saying to him. It feels like a big moment, like another step he’s helping Dan take.

“Yes,” his mum says. “I am. And I’ll be expecting you to come home for a visit.”

“You want me to come home?” Phil repeats, somewhat robotically.

Dan frowns. 

“Jesus, child. You haven’t seen this old bird in months. Muster up some enthusiasm.”

Phil can’t take Dan suddenly looking unsure, so he steps forward and gets a hand on Dan’s hip, walking him backwards into his bedroom and pushing him onto the bed. Dan huffs out a laugh, shuffling back until his head is laid back against the pillows.

“I’m enthusiastic, mum,” he says, following Dan up onto the bed and sitting on his lap. “Trust me.”

“You sound distracted.”

“I am, I’m sorry.” He runs his hand over the lace on Dan’s chest. “Can I ring you back later?”

“Yeah, alright then. Soon though, yeah?”

“Soon,” he promises. “Later mum.” He hangs up and tosses his phone into the duvet behind him. “Jesus, Dan.”

Dan smirks. “You like?”

“You know I like it.” 

“I mean, not unless you tell me.” 

Dan’s eyes don’t convey a belief in what he’s saying, but Phil takes care to answer anyway. “Dan… I really, really like it.” 

Dan licks his lips. His eyes flicker down to Phil’s mouth and then back up. “How much?” 

Phil settles into a more comfortable straddle, knees on either side of Dan digging into the mattress as he leans forward “So much.” 

“Show me,” Dan says. 

He barely finishes getting the words out of his mouth when Phil’s kissing him. It’s deep and delicious and sexy. He presses his hips down into Dan’s and he can feel that’s Dan’s already half hard. 

“What do you think, though?” Phil asks, peppering kisses over Dan’s jaw and down his neck before he sits back up. “Do you like it?” 

Dan lets out a long, noisy breath and then nods. “I do,” he says. “I like how it looks.” 

“You should wear it the next time Stevie has a party,” Phil says. “Or don’t, because everyone would fall in love with you, and I’d have to spend the whole night beating people away.” 

“I’m glad you didn’t say beating them off,” Dan says. 

“No, that’s just for you.” Phil grins and bites lightly at Dan’s jaw. 

“I like you when you’re just for me.” 

“I like you all the time,” Phil shoots back. 

“You’re an idiot,” Dan says. 

“But you still like me.” Phil grins. “And I still like you… especially in that shirt.” 

“Do you know how it makes me feel?” Dan asks. He takes Phil’s hand and pushes it down between their bodies, until Phil’s fingers curl around the shape of Dan in his pants. “Sexy. It makes me feel really sexy.” 

Phil goes back to kissing him. He knows if he says any more words, they’re going to be stupid words that make no sense. His chest feels weirdly tight with pride and affection and lust all swirled together, and as much as Dan looks like something Phil wants to eat in that shirt, he really would like to get his mouth on more skin and less fabric.

He squeezes Dan through his pants and then moves both hands up to the top button of the shirt. 

“Taking it off already?” Dan teases. “Thought you liked it.”

“I like it.” He gets the button open and moves to the next. “I like it so much. I like you so much. You’re so pretty and brave and amazing.”

Yeah, he was right. Stupid, rambling words.

But they make Dan smile, so maybe it’s okay. 

“I’m not brave enough to wear it anywhere but home with you.”

“Shh.” Phil nudges Dan’s head to the side and kisses at the neck that’s now exposed. He’s managed to get three buttons open and is working on a fourth, but his progress is slowed by pressing kisses to Dan’s throat.

Dan hums his approval, hands slipping up under Phil’s shirt to rub at his sides. “Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah,” Phil breathes, tilting his head down so he can see what he’s doing. His fingers are clumsy and he’s not feeling particularly patient, but he’d feel pretty bloody terrible if he managed to pull a button off Dan’s shirt within a day of its purchase.

“I think I’m gay.”

Phil jerks his head up, all thoughts of removing Dan’s clothing momentarily forgotten. “What?”

“I’m gay.”

Phil doesn’t know what to say. His chest is a whole hell of a lot tighter now.

“I’m not really brave,” Dan says. “But you make me feel like I could be. Someday.”

“You are,” Phil almost whispers. 

“I didn’t actually know for sure before I met you. But this feels…” He squeezes Phil’s waist. “I don’t know. Things just feel right. You feel right.”

Phil drops his forehead down onto Dan’s, and now he is whispering. “You’re amazing.”

Dan just tilts his face up into a kiss that Phil can barely return for how overwhelmed he is. 

But Dan is undeterred. They kiss and kiss and kiss until the heat comes back, until Phil can feel Dan’s cock hard through his underwear, until the need to get Dan’s shirt open returns. His fingers find the button he’d left off on, and now he’s a little less careful. Sod it. If he ruins the shirt, he’ll just buy Dan a new one.

Finally, finally, he gets the last button unbuttoned, pushing the shirt open and leaning back for a good long look at Dan’s chest. 

“I’m very, very gay,” he says, then leans back down to pepper that broad flat expanse with wet, open mouthed kisses. 

Dan’s breathing goes a little more laboured when Phil drags his tongue over one of Dan’s nipples, so he does it again, then closes his lips around it for a proper suck.

Dan inhales sharply through his nose. “Fuck,” he mutters, burying his fingers in Phil’s hair. “Your mouth.”

Phil reaches down to palm Dan through his pants again. “What about my mouth?”

“It’s a good mouth,” Dan says. He tugs on Phil’s hair a little, enough for a dull pain to prickle his scalp.

“Is it?” Phil asks, and suddenly, there’s something he wants, something new.

Dan seems to know. His expression goes dark. “Yeah. It is.”

Phil keeps eye contact as he kisses down to Dan’s navel, then lifts his face up a bit, letting his chin sink into the soft flesh of Dan’s lower belly. “Can I do something?”

Dan’s chest is rising and falling heavily already. “Fuck yeah.”

“It involves…” His hands rub up and down Dan’s thighs. “My mouth.” 

“Phil.” Dan tugs harder. “I said yes.” 

Phil stares at Dan for just a beat even longer than that, like he needs to be double, triple, quadruple sure. 

Then he hooks his fingers into the waistband of the Calvins and tugs down. 

He likes what he sees. He already knows that. He’s seen it before, a few times now. But he likes it from this angle. He likes it from every future angle he’ll see, and he hopes there are a lot of them. 

He also likes the sounds that come out of Dan’s mouth when he has his first taste. He doesn’t think about how long it’s probably been since anyone did this to Dan, or who that last person might have been. It doesn’t matter; the Dan that existed back then isn’t the Dan that exists right now and Phil doesn’t need to have known both versions of him to know that. 

He just needs to know that this is the man Dan has become and he might still struggle a little but he’s learning himself and Phil is lucky enough that Dan’s letting him come along for the ride. 

“Phil…” Dan groans loudly. 

He’s loud in bed when he’s really feeling good. Phil hadn’t really seen that coming, but it shouldn’t surprise him. He’s not loud for show or even on purpose, it’s just the same way he is when he gets really into anything he loves - gasps, whines, whimpers. Phil clutches Dan’s hips as his mouth works and he’s grateful for each of the noises that he pries out. 

He’s ready for it when Dan goes tense all over. “I’m close,” he says, but Phil already knew that. The trembling in Dan’s thighs and the hardness in Phil’s mouth and the sweat on Dan’s skin all told Phil what he needed to know. 

He sucks harder and moves faster and then he’s swallowing down a mouthful of warmth so quickly he barely even tastes it. He stays like that for just a moment, letting Dan get past the burst of intensity of his orgasm and coast down before Phil pulls away. 

“Fuck,” Dan says, and flings an arm over his eyes. “Fuck.” 

“No.” Phil kisses Dan’s hip. He wants to kiss everywhere, but he doesn’t want to push more boundaries right now. “Suck.” 

Dan snorts. “I hate you.” 

“No you don’t,” Phil says, smug. 

Dan moves his arm to look at Phil. “No, I don’t.” 

Phil starts to snicker. 

“What?” Dan asks. 

“Dan.” He kisses Dan’s side, skims his lips over Dan’s ribs. “I’m gay.” 

“I know that, you idiot.” Dan laughs. 

“Yeah but you just like, underline it.” He kisses Dan’s left nipple, then makes himself cozy using Dan’s chest as a pillow. 

Dan starts to rub a hand up and down his back. “I wanna do that to you.” 

Phil wants that so badly he _aches_ at just the thought. “Yeah?” 

“Mhmm,” Dan says. “As soon as I can move again.” 

“I can’t wait.”

“Oh. Really?” The note of surprise in his voice is confusing to Phil.

“I mean. Not literally. I can wait. I’m not trying to pressure you. Sorry.”

“You want me to, though?”

Phil lifts his head so he can look at Dan. “Yes? Of course? Why wouldn’t I?” He’s feeling scared suddenly, but Dan just smiles.

“I’m sorry.” He reaches up and pinches Phil’s chin. “I just really like hearing you say it.”

“That I want you?”

Dan nods. “That you want me to touch you.”

“Do I not say it enough? Is it not obvious?”

“I’m not saying that.” His voice is deep and warm, a private voice just for Phil. “You’re just so bloody considerate all the time.”

Phil frowns.

“It’s _fine_ ,” Dan says, running his thumb along the line of Phil’s jaw. “I’m not complaining. I’m not criticizing. I know you’re protecting me. But sometimes it’s nice to know you just… want me to touch you.”

“I want you to touch me,” Phil says. He pulls Dan’s hand from his face and guides it down between his legs. He’s still fully dressed and he’s gone mostly soft, but Dan could rectify that very quickly with very little effort. “Consider this an open invitation to touch me any time you bloody want, yeah?”

Dan smiles something a little cheekier, popping open the button on Phil’s jeans. “With my mouth?”

Phil drops his forehead down onto Dan’s chest. “God. Yeah.”

The angle is awkward, but Dan manages to get Phil’s fly unzipped and a hand crammed in between the denim and his pants. There’s no room for him to do anything but press his palm against Phil’s growing hardness, but it feels good anyway. 

“Tell me,” Dan says.

“I reckon you’re good at it,” Phil murmurs. “Your mouth is so big.”

Dan huffs a breathy laugh, and it makes Phil’s head jiggle with the movement of his chest.

“And warm,” Phil continues, undeterred by his own ineloquence. 

“Mhm.” Dan pulls his hand out and tugs down on Phil’s pants, freeing him from the constraints of his clothing.

Phil is worked up enough that he decides to go for it. “I want to be inside you,” he says. “And your mouth is a good start.”

“Fuck, Phil.” In what feels like an instant, Phil is on his back and Dan is above him, pulling his jeans and pants down properly, all the way off and tossing them on the floor. “Do you?”

Phil nods, spreading his legs a bit for Dan to fit between. “Doesn’t mean you have to. I’m just saying I want to.”

“You wanna fuck me?”

Hearing it put like that makes Phil’s stomach flip rather violently. “Yes.”

Dan doesn’t answer. He pushes Phil’s shirt up and leans down to kiss his stomach, rubbing his palms against Phil’s hips. “I haven’t done this in ages,” he murmurs. “I might be shit.”

Phil feels the warmth of Dan’s breath on his skin and no shame about the way he’s aching for Dan now. “You literally couldn’t be.”

“But I could.”

“You _won’t_.” He reaches down and rubs Dan’s bottom lip with his thumb. Dan’s eyes are lidded and dark, and Phil follows his lust addled brain’s urge to push a finger gently into Dan’s mouth. 

Dan responds in a way that makes it abundantly clear that Phil was right: there’s no way he could be bad at what he’s about to do.

“I want it,” Phil says. “Please.”

Dan pulls his mouth off Phil’s finger and drops it down right where Phil wants it in one fluid, extremely sensual motion. Phil pushes the curls up off Dan’s forehead so he can get a better view. He’s probably going to finish quicker than he’d like, but he’s not willing to miss the sight of this for anything. 

Dan’s still wearing his new shirt and nothing else. It hangs open to display the pretty pink flush of his chest and Phil has the overwhelming feeling that everything in the world is right, even if just in this moment. 

“I love this,” he tells Dan, massaging his fingers against Dan’s scalp. “It’s so good. You’re so good.”

Dan rubs Phil’s hip, long fingers stroking over the jut of bone before wrapping around to hold him there. His mouth is big and warm and everything Phil imagined it would be. Everything and more.

He warns Dan when he’s close, half expecting Dan to pull off and finish with his hand. When he doesn’t, Phil feels compelled to give him another chance. “Dan, I’m gonna come.”

Dan pulls off, dropping his head down to bite the crease of Phil’s pelvis. “Go on then.” And then he takes Phil in again. 

It’s an all consuming kind of pleasure when Phil spills into Dan’s mouth, one he knows for sure he’s never going to forget. 

He pulls Dan up when it’s over and kisses him, wraps him up a cuddle that feels as necessary as oxygen. They lie together for a long time in the most comfortable kind of quiet, bathed in the grey light of a late London afternoon.

“Dan,” Phil says eventually. His voice has gone thick and deep with contentment.

“Yeah?”

“Come home with me.”

Dan’s expression is a slow delve into confusion. “Phil, we are home.” 

Phil laughs. “No, I mean, to Manchester. Come home with me, and meet my mum.” 

“Isn’t she in Florida?”

Phil realizes that Dan must have been too in his nerves before to have listened to Phil’s conversation on the phone. “Yeah, she is, but she’s coming home in a few weeks. She wants me to come for a visit. And… I want to. I want to bring you with me.” 

“Wow,” Dan says. He doesn’t seem upset, but his expression is hard to read. 

“You don’t have to come out to her,” he rushes to add. “I can just bring you as my flatmate. I can introduce you as that. She’s already heard all about you from me and I’m sure from Martyn and Corn too by now, and it’s normal for me to drag home all of my friends.”

“Phil—” Dan cuts him off. “Yeah. Shh. Breathe. Of course I want to meet your mum.” 

Phil beams at him and then kisses Dan’s cheek. “She’s going to make you so many cakes.” 

“I’m holding you to that,” Dan says. Phil has to give him a proper kiss just for that, a soft and sweet one. When they pull back Dan licks his lips and then says, “But maybe… like, as friends, at first. Like you said.” 

“Of course,” Phil reassures him, cuddling in closer. He can see the apprehension in Dan’s eyes, the nerves, but he also trusts Dan to know his own limits and set his own terms. It’s just Phil’s job to respect them. “It’ll be great.”


	36. Chapter 36

Phil is glued to his phone.

He shouldn’t be. He’s at work.

But it’s a rainy day, which means it’s slow, and Stevie doesn’t have any classes, and Phil’s got a very chatty boyfriend on the other end of his mobile keeping him entertained.

He’s not even trying to hide it at this point. He knows Stevie doesn’t care. In fact, she’s all but encouraging it.

“You have to give me at least _one_ cheeky detail,” she says, pointing at him with the spoon she’s using to eat a cup of raspberry yogurt. She’s sat atop the counter as always, her cornflower blue hair pulled up into a messy ponytail. 

“Details about what?” Phil asks innocently, even while the message on his phone reads: _you need to google how to do jaw stretches for me mate i’m sore and it’s your fault._

“Mon chou, you think you can sext in my shop and I’m not gonna notice?”

“I’m not!” he squawks. Then he types back: _I will definitely get on that :)) Can’t have you pulling a muscle._

“You’re a very shit liar, Phil.”

Phil smiles, aiding his phone into his pocket. “I’m actually not. You’re just freakishly good at reading people.”

“Aha. I knew it.”

“It’s not sexting,” he insists. “It’s just… sexy flirting.”

“Which is the first step to sexting,” she informs him. “Flirting, then dirty pictures, and then-” 

“Okay, I don’t need a tutorial!” Phil laughs. 

“Are you sure?” She grins slyly at him. “I’m sure I could consult my own text message history for some examples to show you…” 

“Ew, no!” Phil pulls a horrified face. “That’s definitely beyond the boss/employee comfort line. Or the gay man/straight woman comfort line.” 

She pouts. “My tits are _fabulous._ ” 

“More for Theo,” Phil tells her. 

And then his phone goes off and he’s immediately plunged into distraction again. _i’m a shite employee today can’t stop thinking about you. even after an extra long shower._

It takes Stevie clearing her throat twice for him to look up. 

“What!” he squeaks. ”I’m just talking to Dan.”

She walks over to him and leans against the counter. 

He pointedly turns his phone over to face down on the counter. 

“You are quite no fun,” she says, lifting a spoonful of yoghurt to point at him. 

He can’t resist. He really can’t. “That’s not what Dan said last night.” 

She gapes at him in the most delighted way. “Philipe!” 

He immediately follows it up with: “I’m not saying anything.” 

She snorts displeasure and shakes her head, backing away. “Fine. Keep your secrets.” 

She disappears into the back, to her makeshift little office that she spends almost no time in. He thinks maybe she’s given up so he doesn’t feel bad about giving his phone his full attention again. 

_Stevie keeps asking me for details because you’re distracting me so much_

_that a bad thing?_ Dan asks. 

_No :) never a bad thing. Now tell me more about that shower…_

Dan sends three water emojis followed by a text that says: _come home and i’ll recreate it for you._

Phil sends the screaming face emoji. _That’s it I’m playing hookie, Stevie can fend for herself_

Dan sends a grinning devil emoji and an eggplant this time. _good my evil plan has worked_

_Evil or horny??_

_both? both._

_Lmao_

_if you’re coming home you should stop by superdrug first…_

_Do you need something?_ Phil asks, frowning slightly. _Are you poorly?_

_nah im good just thought you might want to pick up some condoms and lube_

Phil almost drops his phone. 

And then, with the worst timing in the world, Stevie comes out of her office holding a little box of… something. He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care.

She immediately picks up on the shock he’s sure is splashed across his face. “Quoi?”

“I— um. Nothing?”

She puts her hands on her hips. “Tell me or I swear to god you’re fired.”

He rolls his eyes, not believing the threat for a second, but it doesn’t stop him holding his phone out for her to look.

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Merde.”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve not… done that yet?”

He shakes his head, his lip caught between his teeth as he rereads the text over and over. 

“Do you not want to?” she asks.

He gives her a look. “You’ve seen Dan. Of course I want to.”

She grins. “Aw, mon chou. You’re so in love it’s sickening.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles sheepishly. “What do I say?”

“Say you will, obviously. Imbécile.”

He’s about to do that when Dan beats him to the punch. _or not_

_No!!_ Phil texts back. _Of course I will. I’m sorry I didn’t answer right away I was just busy picking up the pieces of my exploded brain._

_it doesn’t have to be a big deal. i just_  
_idk_  
_want to_

_Right._ Phil writes. _Sex with the hottest bloke in the world. Not a big deal._

_shut up idiot don’t make it a big deal i’m trying not to brick it_

_Sorry babe I’m just trying really hard not to get a full on boner at work_

Dan texts back a middle finger emoji followed by a black heart. Phil sends a blue heart, then returns his phone to his pocket with shaky fingers.

Stevie is proper staring at him. 

Phil does an awkward shrug, then an even more awkward little anxiety giggle. Then he pushes his glasses up and digs his fingers into his eyes. “I’m an adult,” he says to her. “Like a proper adult. Not even a young adult anymore.”

“Yes,” she says.

“I’m not going to have a freak out about sex with my boyfriend.”

“Glad to hear it,” she says, and he can’t see her but he just knows she’s making fun of him. 

He slides his glasses back on. “I hate you.”

“Non. Tu m’aimes.”

“Sometimes it feels like you genuinely forget I don’t know any French at all.”

“I don’t forget.” She holds out the box to him. 

He takes it. “What is this?” 

“Last Valentine’s Day we hosted a special couples class.” She smiles at him. It’s a deep and delighted smile that he does not trust even the tiniest bit. “Tantric painting. We provided a take-home gift for couples… and to the luck of yourself and darling Daniel, I still have extras…” 

Phil reads from the box. “Play Paints… oh my god, are these—” 

“They’re edible, too.” Her smile turns into a full on cackle. “Ça va être du fun!”

“Stevie! This is like…” His voice drops to a whisper even though there’s no one else in the shop. “ _Kinky_.” 

She’s definitely laughing at him, not with him. “Art is sexual, mon chou. Sex is art.”

He wants to care but he’s already distracted by imagining what they could do with this. 

“I hate you,” he tells her. “What am I going to do with these?”

“Use your imagination. I think you and your love can figure it out… just don’t use it in place of lubricant, I think it’s for skin surfaces only.” 

Phil’s floundering for a response when, miracle of miracles, the door opens and a customer comes in. 

He knows Stevie sees him put the box of paints in his bag but he glares at her pointedly and she manages to behave in front of the stranger who spends the next hour quizzing her on her graphite pencil expertise. 

-

He’s been in this Superdrug before. More than once, actually. He came here only a couple of weeks after moving when he realized he had nothing in the way of a first aid cabinet and needed at least some basics, then again a month or two later when he was getting a bit of an itchy throat and wanted lozenges to suck on. 

He tells himself that it doesn’t matter either way, though. He’s an adult. He’s thirty-three years old. He’s a grown man. He’s allowed to linger in the condom aisle and peruse the boxes without feeling as conspicuous as he currently does. 

Besides, he reminds himself, there are self checkout kiosks. He won’t even have to look the girl behind the counter in the eye. 

That’s the thought that bolsters him into grabbing a box of the only kind of condom he’s ever really used. He’s looking at lube bottles when he realizes he forgot to ask Dan for preferences. He chews on his lip as he tries to figure out how to word it, then finally texts _Any allergies or sensitivities I should know about?_

_uhhh… broke out in hives once after using a dodgy brand of washing detergent?_

Phil laughs softly to himself. _No like… latex?_

He gets back three dots in response, then _cmd z that answer pls ask me again_

_Any allergies or sensitivities I should know about?_

_latex is fine. nothing strongly flavoured_

_Got it._ Phil texts, his eyes automatically drawn to the surprisingly extensive selection of exotically flavoured lube. _You taste better than any fake cherry anyway ;)_

The answer he gets back comes right away. _phil just fucking pick something i want you here now_

Five minutes later, Phil is on his way home.

-

When Phil gets in, Dan is quite literally waiting at the door, shirtless and still slightly damp from the shower he’s obviously just taken. The second shower, apparently. He’s keyed up, mouth insistent on Phil’s when he grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him in for a kiss.

“What’s got into you?” Phil murmurs, trying to toe his shoes off as Dan tugs him out of the doorway.

“You, soon, hopefully.”

Phil wants to lose himself in being wanted like this, but some small, very annoying voice in the back of his head tells him not to. He folds his arms around the back of Dan’s neck, the plastic shopping bag still clutched in his hand.

“What’s the rush?” he asks, taking care to make his voice soft and non accusatory.

But Dan still stiffens. “Do you not want to?”

“Dan. Of course I do.”

“Then can we please just…” He clutches Phil’s hips so hard over his jeans that the press of denim into Phil’s skin is slightly painful. “I just want you. I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I can’t focus on anything else.”

“Okay,” Phil says, trying to swallow down the nagging feeling that there’s something Dan’s not telling him. “Should I shower?”

Dan shakes his head, reaching up behind him to take one of Phil’s hands and pull him towards the hall. 

Phil lets himself be pulled. It’s not like he doesn’t want it. He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t been thinking about it too, especially since a few days ago when Dan asked for a finger while Phil was going down on him. Phil couldn’t actually give it to him because neither of them had lube and Phil wouldn’t risk hurting him, but just the fact that Dan asked for it made Phil’s brain short circuit momentarily.

Thinking about that now still pulls at something low in Phil’s gut. Maybe Dan really is just desperately horny and longing to take the next step. God knows hormones are powerful motivators, and Dan has been so brave lately. The trust he has for Phil seems to grow exponentially by the day. 

He’s telling Phil he wants it. He’s asking for it, and who is Phil to tell Dan what he can and can’t ask for?

It’s impossible not to get turned on once Dan has pulled Phil into his bedroom and started pulling off his clothes. Dan keeps pressing kisses and bites to Phil’s neck and shoulder as he works Phil’s jeans open, sliding his hand into Phil’s pants and sighing with what sounds like relief when he curls his fingers around the hardness there.

“I really was so distracted at work,” Phil breathes, tilting his head so Dan can more easily mouth at the spot below his ear. “I’m lucky Stevie finds my infatuation with you so endearing.”

Dan pushes Phil’s jeans off his hips, then pushes him back onto the bed. Phil huffs a surprised laugh as he lands heavily, lifting his legs up so Dan can pull his jeans all the way off. 

Then Dan just stands there for a moment. Looking. Phil props himself up on his elbows and looks back. 

“I can’t believe I’m allowed to have this,” Dan says quietly.

“Well you are.”

Dan’s still wearing his sweatpants, the ones Phil loves, grey and fitted and cropped at the ankles. He’s already got a slight blush on his cheeks and neck.

Phil says, “Come kiss me?” 

And Dan does, climbing up onto the bed and straddling Phil on all fours and making Phil reach up for his mouth. He tastes like mint and smells like Phil’s lemon body wash.

They kiss for a long time. Eventually, they’re both naked and Dan is laid out on his back, legs open for Phil to fit between. Dan takes Phil’s hand and guides it down. Phil tries to touch him where it’s become usual, but Dan keeps going lower.

Phil’s stomach clenches, equally excited and nervous as he presses two fingers against the seam between that strip of flat sensitive skin and rubs a few firm circles.

Dan gasps soundlessly, and Phil stops immediately. 

“No?”

Dan squeezes Phil’s wrist. “Not no. Fuck. Get the lube?”

Phil has to move to get it, and he can’t resist pressing his fingers down again before he drags himself away. His fingers shake working to remove the plastic sealing the bottle of lube. “I got this um, the label said naturals, and you like all natural things—” 

“Phil. Thank you. But also, I don’t care.” Dan is definitely laughing at him but he’s also got his hand on himself and Phil almost drops the bottle at the sight. He tosses the lube to Dan to finish opening and then drops his face down to kiss Dan’s neck while he does it. 

Dan hands it back when he’s gotten it open and Phil sits back on his knees. He’s still shaking just a bit, but it always happens when he’s excited, or tired, or overstimulated, or in bed with the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen. That last one is only a recently tested theory, but he’s confident in the results so far. 

He puts a little too much in his hand and slicks his fingers up, then stares down at where Dan’s opened for him, legs spread and inviting. He looks at Dan’s face again next, seeing the flush that’s crawled from Dan’s cheeks down to his chest, patches of red splotched against his skin. 

“I’m sure,” Dan says, impatient but still answering the question Phil hasn’t even voiced. 

The question he wasn’t going to voice. Because this decision is Dan’s. But he figures the concern was still on his face, and he’s not actually sorry for it. 

“Okay,” Phil says, and then he’s sliding one finger there, rubbing gently over before pushing in just a bit. Dan groans and he wanks himself faster. 

“Yeah,” Dan mumbles, then lets go of himself. “It’s intense.” 

Phil stops himself from that impulse to say something stupid in response, because he doesn’t want to make jokes, not right now. Not during this. Later, maybe, but not this time. 

He takes care and goes slowly and indulges in imagining what this will feel like around him. He’s going to find out, and soon, and he aches but he’s also not in a hurry. “Still good?” He asks. 

“Yeah,” Dan says. “Give me another one.” 

Phil’s gut clenches. He adds more lube and then works a second finger alongside the first, hearing and at the same time feeling the deep groan it pulls from Dan. 

“Talk to me,” Phil says. He wants to look at Dan’s face, see the expression there, but the sight of his fingers sinking in and out of Dan’s body is too amazing to tear his eyes from. 

“Can’t.” Dan’s voice is lower than normal, like it takes effort just to get that one word out. “Busy.”

“Is it good?” Phil asks. He hopes Dan will forgive him his neediness.

“Yes.” Dan reaches down and squeezes Phil’s wrist again. “I love it.”

“God.” Phil leans up and mashes his mouth against Dan’s, the gentle pumping movements of his fingers momentarily halted by his inability to multitask. “Do you really?”

Dan nods, biting Phil’s lip. “Curl them,” he whispers, pulling Phil’s wrist so his fingers retract a couple millimeters. “Fuck, curl them, right there.”

Phil feels like he’s been doused in gasoline and set ablaze when he does as he’s told and is rewarded with Dan’s back arching slightly off the bed. Dan lets go of Phil’s wrist and gets a hand on himself again, and Phil uses this new knowledge of exactly where to touch to make his boyfriend melt.

And he does melt. Phil watches it happen, watches that last little bit of Dan’s apprehension dissolve, and with it goes Phil’s as well. Dan likes this. He wants it, and he wants Phil to give it to him, and Phil is the luckiest fucking guy on earth. What could he possibly have to be nervous about?

Phil’s patience erodes quickly after that. He’s hard, leaking, aching. He wants this to be about Dan, but at the end of the day, he’s just a bloke, just a guy whose every fibre is screaming at him to just fucking do it already.

“Dan,” he says, breathy and desperate. 

Dan’s reply is a distracted grunt. His arm is thrown over his eyes, the other hand fisted in the sheets.

“Can I— I really want to fuck you now.”

“I want you to,” Dan says. “I want - yeah. I want that.” 

Phil grabs the box of condoms he’d dropped onto the bed before when he had to get up for the lube. His fingers are so slick he can barely get the box open and he laughs at himself, his own clumsiness. He looks at Dan expecting Dan to be laughing too but Dan’s face is tight with what Phil hopes is the good kind of anticipation. 

He wipes his fingers on the duvet and manages to get a foil packet ripped off from the rest and open. He wants to kiss Dan again but he’s also afraid of losing the momentum of this so he gets it on first and then leans over Dan, finding his mouth and kissing him thoroughly. 

Dan grabs his face and kisses back with desperation. He’s making sounds into Phli’s mouth and clinging to Phil’s body like he doesn’t want to let Phil go. Phil gives in and lets Dan keep him close for as long as he can but he eventually leans back, impatience winning. “Dan, fuck.” He rubs his hands down Dan’s thighs and then pushes them open again. “You look so good.” 

He grabs the lube and slicks up the condom and he can see Dan’s eyes on him now. His mouth is drawn and his eyes are wide and something starts to prickle at Phil but Dan hasn’t said stop yet. He gets ready, gets into position, and then stops and quietly says, “Dan?” 

“Phil.” Dan’s voice is small and broken. “Stop.” 

Phil pulls back immediately, but keeps his hands on Dan’s thighs, still rubbing. “What is it?” 

“I just need a minute,” Dan says. His chest is moving rapidly but this time Phil can recognize that it isn’t from pleasure. 

He tries to quell the rising panic inside of him and just sits there letting Dan work through what he needs to. 

Dan finally bursts out with a quiet but emphatically angry, “Fuck.” 

Phil flinches. “What’s wrong?” 

Dan’s fist comes down ineffectually onto the bed beside him. “I can’t, Phil. I can’t fucking do it.” He sits up and grabs his sweatpants off the floor, tugging them on almost violently. Phil can see tears in his eyes. 

He suddenly feels like some kind of predator. Dan sits on the edge of the bed with his back to Phil, and Phil takes the opportunity to pull the condom off and toss it away from him like it’s poisonous. At the moment he doesn’t care that it’ll stain Dan’s carpet with lube and spermicidal chemicals. He feels distinctly nauseous, cold sweat dewing on his forehead.

He wants to run away. But he also doesn’t want to move. He doesn’t want to subject Dan to the view of his naked body.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

Dan turns around. “What?”

“I pushed,” Phil says. “I shouldn’t have pushed.”

Dan still looks angry, but his eyes search Phil’s face and then his own crumples. He crawls over to where Phil is sat, right into his lap. He wraps his legs around Phil’s waist and his arms around Phil’s neck and squeezes.

Phil squeezes back, the warmth of Dan’s skin bare against his chest a comfort even in all the painful confusion. 

“It’s not you,” Dan says. “You must know by now that it’s not you.”

Phil nods. At the moment it feels quite a lot like it’s him, but he trusts that if Dan says it’s not, then it’s not. “Did I do something, though?” he asks, rubbing Dan’s back. “Did I trigger something?”

“You triggered me being insanely horny for you. To the point that I thought I could be braver than I actually am.”

Phil shakes his head. “I should’ve let you tell me when you were ready.”

“I was,” Dan says, pulling back to look at Phil. “And then I wasn’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I am,” Dan says. “I know me being like this fucks with your head.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s really not.”

Phil wants to argue more. He wants to give Dan every reassurance that’s ever existed.

But right now, Dan’s not entirely wrong. It does hurt a little. It does bruise Phil a little on the inside to see the man he loves flinch away from him in a moment that’s meant to be intimate and trusting. He’ll never admit that to Dan. Not ever. But he still feels it, even if it doesn’t override the part of him that understands why these things are so difficult for Dan. 

“Can we just… lie down?” Phil asks. “Cuddle?”

“Yeah.” Dan swipes at his eye with the back of his hand. “Please.”

“Do you want me to get dressed?”

Dan shakes his head, pulling up the duvet for them both to slip under. “I’m really sorry,” he says, laying his head down on Phil’s chest. “I really wanted it. I still do.”

Phil smoothes his hand over the curls at the crown of Dan’s head. “I know. It’s okay.”

“You’re never gonna touch me again, are you?”

“Don’t be a div.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” Dan says, tucking his arm around Phil’s waist.

“You overestimate my self control,” Phil says. “Or underestimate my attraction to you. Or both.”

Dan doesn’t say anything else, but Phil doesn’t have the mental strength to let silence fall between them.

“Can I tell you something I’ve never told anyone before?”

Dan says, “Of course.”

“When I first moved to York I told myself I wasn’t going to hide anymore, yeah? I told myself it was a second chance to be myself. Like, I was going to come out to everyone I met and date lots of guys and just be as gay as I wanted to be.”

“That’s amazing,” Dan murmurs.

“Yeah but I couldn’t do it like that. I wanted to but I was still terrified. One night after drinking with my housemates I was sat in bed super drunk feeling sorry for myself watching gay porn and wondering if I was going to have to keep pretending my whole life and I just— I couldn’t handle it. So I ordered a dildo online.”

Dan lifts his head and looks at Phil. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

Phil nods. “I didn’t even do research or read reviews at all, I just bought the first one I saw and by the next morning I’d forgotten about it. When it came in the post I didn’t know what it was at first because of the ‘discreet packaging.’ Thank god I didn’t open it in front of anyone.”

Dan snorts.

“Anyway. I actually tried to use it once. I stole some of my housemate’s olive oil to use for lube and—”

“Oh god, Phil.”

“I know, okay? I was a sad closeted baby gay with no idea what I was doing. And when I tried to get the stupid thing in I couldn’t do it. It felt like a freaking elephant cock or something.”

“Phil!” Dan squawks, hiding his face in his hands and laughing. 

“I think it was just an average sized dildo. But suddenly it felt inhumanly big and I couldn’t do it. I kept it in a shoebox under my bed all throughout uni and never used it once.”

Dan is quiet for a minute. Then he says, “I bought a dildo online when I first moved out of my hometown, too.”

“Yeah?” 

“Lots actually. I bought lots of toys over the years. And the first time I tried one it also felt like an elephant cock. But I got it in.”

Phil’s heart rate speeds up. He’s not proud of it. “Yeah?” he says again.

“Yeah.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yeah,” Dan says. “That’s like, the shittiest part of whatever the fuck my brain is doing to me. I actually did like it very fucking much, so I don’t know why I feel like such a fucking pervert when I let myself enjoy it. ” 

“Dan.” Phil’s voice is quiet and pained. “You’re not-” 

“I’m not a pervert,” Dan says. He sounds more tired than anything else. “I know. I know, Phil. I used them a lot the first few years. It always felt good while I was doing it. Once in a while I’d even use it and manage to continue living my life without a spiraling breakdown. But usually I’d get off with a toy and then the next day I just wouldn’t even want to open my eyes. Like if I walked down the street every person that saw me would know what I’d done and suddenly I’d be running from bullies throwing rocks and punches just like I spent most of my teenage years doing.” 

“Fuck.” Phil wraps his arms around Dan because that’s all he feels like he can do right now. Just - hold on and not let go. 

Dan seems to appreciate it. He rests his head against Phil as he keeps talking. “But I did like it. And I know I’ll like it even more when it’s you inside of me. I just need my head to get the fuck with it. I’m going to talk to my therapist about it next week, I think. I mean… she knows some of it. Haven’t really ever had a reason to go deep into detail with her. But she knows enough.” 

Phil feels weird about the idea of Dan talking about their sex life with a total stranger, but if Dan thinks it will help him then Phil reckons it’s worth it. There’s not much he wouldn’t do to make Dan feel better right now. On top of just being good for Dan, it feels like an investment in their future. 

“We’ll stick with what feels safe right now,” Phil says. 

“I did like your fingers in me,” Dan says. “That was good. I think I could have come just from that.” 

Phil has another one of those reactions that’s probably inappropriate for the tone. But then again, Dan’s talking about coming from Phil fingering him, so maybe it’s not that inappropriate. 

“You will next time,” Phil says. 

“Can next time be tonight?” Dan asks, pulling back to look up at Phil. “I want to make up for blue balling you.” 

“Dan.” Phil frowns. “No. There’s nothing to make up for.” 

“Fine,” Dan says. “Then I want to do it for me. I’ve spent all fucking day wanting you so much it’s driving me out of my mind. I don’t want tonight to end without me making you come.” 

Phil rubs Dan’s back, trying desperately to think of a way to word what’s in his head without making Dan feel guilty or defensive. 

Unfortunately he doesn’t come up with anything before Dan catches on. “You don’t want to.”

He almost denies it. The words are on the tip of his tongue, but he bites them back at the last minute. If he expects Dan to be honest, it should go both ways. Even when it’s something he really doesn’t want to admit.

“I think it might be better if we didn’t. Just… not right now.”

Dan sits up. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I just ruin everything all the time.”

“Dan.” Phil sits up too, pulling the duvet over his lap. He’s wishing now that he’d put some clothes on, even if just a pair of pants. “Please don’t do that. Nothing is ruined. I’m just not in the mood anymore.”

Dan looks like he’s about to cry. “Literally all I care about is being good to you. And somehow I never am.”

Phil decides he can’t have this conversation naked. He scoots to the end of the bed and bends down to pick up his boxers. When he’s got those on, he goes to Dan’s wardrobe and pulls out the first thing he gets his hands on, the fuzzy black jumper that makes Dan look like a teddy bear. He pulls that on too, then climbs back onto the bed to join Dan, who’s been staring at him the whole time.

“Do you think the only thing that matters to me is getting off?” Phil asks. Maybe it’s not an entirely fair way to frame things, but he does genuinely feel a little prickle of something unpleasant deep down. He feels shaken by the whole encounter. He knows he’ll be fine tomorrow, but he’d like Dan to give him the space to work through it, the same way Phil always tries to do for him. 

“Of course not,” Dan says quietly.

“You are good to me,” Phil says. “You make my life better. You’re kind and compassionate and generous and funny and sexy. I look at the world so differently since I met you. You make me think about things in a way I never did before. You’ve made my world bigger. You make me feel seen. You make me excited to wake up in the morning.”

Dan is crying now, quietly, two fat perfect tears rolling down either cheek. “Stop.”

“No,” he says firmly. “You need to just accept that I’m in love with you, alright? And it’s not because you’re gorgeous, or because I think you can give me better orgasms than someone else could. It’s because you’re you.”

Dan laughs, sniffling, wiping his nose on his arm. “Don’t say it for the first time when I’m blubbering.”

Phil smiles back, just a tiny bit. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t say anything.”

“Can we try again tomorrow?” Dan asks.

Phil nods, not knowing exactly what they’re going to be trying, but he reckons it doesn’t matter. He’ll tell Dan he loves him tomorrow if that’s what Dan wants. He’ll give Dan his fingers. He’ll make love to Dan or let Dan make love to him. Tomorrow is a new day. A perfect day to try again.

He doesn’t want to end this one on a bad note, though. It wasn’t a bad day. He doesn’t want a dark cloud to steal a day’s worth of sunshine in the eleventh hour.

“Hey,” he says. 

“Hey,” Dan says back.

“Do you wanna do something weird and daft that involves at least partial nudity?”

Dan lifts up his eyebrows. “I’m listening.”


	37. Chapter 37

Phil wakes up with the side of his face jammed into Dan’s armpit. He really can’t account for that, or for why he kind of likes it. Dan still smells clean, and the hair there tickles Phil’s cheek. He lifts his head to get a look at Dan.

As usual, he’s utterly, incandescently adorable. The arm that Phil was nestled under is draped over top of his head and his lips are slightly parted. He’s not snoring, exactly, but it’s in the same ballpark. He’s still got a swipe of yellow paint across his cheek.

Actually, he’s got little bits of paint strewn all over him. A quick glance down at Phil’s own body tells him that he does as well. Dan had refused to take a third shower in one day and Phil hadn’t really wanted to leave Dan’s arms, so they wiped off their artwork as best they could with a t-shirt and called it a night. 

Well, they did order Indian. Phil was willing to leave the bed to collect it from the front door, but then he climbed right back under the duvet next to Dan and they ate garlic naan and chickpea tikka masala propped up against the pillows. 

It was a good night. Finger painting Dan’s chest and licking grape flavoured paint off his nipples was a nice way to soothe their ragged nerves. It was exactly what Phil had said it would be, weird and daft and partially nude. 

It was also fun. Phil’s not looking forward to admitting to Stevie that it was a brilliant idea, but in the end it really was exactly what they needed to heal from what had happened before. 

Phil leans up now and kisses Dan’s sunshine yellow cheek, not caring at all to preserve the peaceful sleep of the man next to him. Dan wakes up slowly, with groans of protest that eventually morph into returning Phil’s needy, obnoxious kisses. 

“Your breath is so bad,” he tells Phil, fingers crawling across Phil’s stomach and curling around his side to pull him in closer. He’s so, so warm and Phil melts right in, hooking a leg around one of Dan’s to pretzel their lower halves together. 

“Yours too.”

“You have paint in your hair,” Dan informs him next, ruffling his whole hand through the remnants of Phil’s quiff.

Phil yawns, stretching his arms above his head. “Whose fault is that?”

Dan kisses him then, deeply, more charged than Phil thinks the moment calls for. When they pull apart, Dan says, “I’m sorry about last night.”

“Shh. It’s fine.”

“I want to make it up to you.” He rolls on top of Phil and plants his hands on either side of Phil’s head.

“Dan. There’s nothing to make up. I’m not keeping score.”

“Well I am.”

Phil opens his mouth to continue his protest, but Dan shuts him up by sticking his tongue directly inside and licking the roof of it.

“Jesus christ,” Phil laughs, reaching up to shove Dan’s face away. “You’re a menace.”

“Yes.” He kisses Phil’s forehead, then his nose, then his chin. He kisses down Phil’s neck to his chest. “I’m going to menace you so good, baby.” 

Phil snickers, but he tangles his fingers in Dan’s hair encouragingly, watching rapt as Dan shuffles back a bit to mouth down Phil’s ribs.

He stops when he gets to Phil’s stomach. “Can I?”

Phil nods, lifting his hips so Dan can tug his pants down. He takes his time, touching and kissing before getting down to it, and Phil feels a little part of himself that he hadn’t been consciously aware of soothed a little more. He doesn’t want Dan to keep apologizing for what happened last night, but it does feel healing to know that nothing has really been lost. They tried something and it didn’t work. It doesn’t mean nothing works. And it doesn’t mean it can’t work some day in the future. 

Phil is lost in the warmth and care of Dan’s mouth when there’s a buzzing under his head. He reaches up to pull his mobile from beneath the pillow, meaning only to make the distracting noise of it stop, but to his horror he finds his stupid clumsy fingers have swiped open on a call, and it’s not even his phone.

It’s Dan’s.

He would probably just hang up if he hadn’t happened to notice the name of the caller: Karen Howell.

He reaches down frantically, grabbing Dan’s shoulder. Dan pulls off and looks up, startled and confused. His lips are shiny and deep pink, and it’s positively indecent that Phil has to shove the phone at him and mouth, “ _Your mum_.”

The look of confusion on Dan’s face morphs into panic with a speed and intensity that would be funny in any other situation. Dan frantically shakes his head and Phil equally frantically pushes the phone at him and then they can hear a voice small through the phone say, “ _Daniel_?”

Dan scrunches his face up and glares at Phil and then rolls off, bringing it to his face to say, “Mum. Hi. Sorry about that. Dropped the phone.” 

Phil shoves himself back into his pants, because it just feels wrong to have his dick out when anyone’s mum is within hearing range. 

Luckily, the same mum-in-hearing-range situation has a great cooling effect on his libido so he at least doesn’t have to deal with that particular kind of discomfort. Instead he listens to Dan as he talks to his mum, trying his nosy best to sort out what it is she’s saying that’s making Dan respond with increasingly one-word answers. 

It’s strange to see from Phil’s perspective. The confident, sweet, slightly horny man from minutes before seems to have the eagerness just sucked right out of him throughout the length of the conversation. 

“Are you sure—” He starts to say, and then stops, and barely holds back a sigh. “Fine. Yeah, no. I know. It’s been a while. Yeah, I said it’s fine. I’m - yeah. Okay. See you then.” 

Those last words are what kickstart almost the same panic Dan had shown, but in Phil. “Wait, you’re seeing your mum?”

“Yeah,” Dan says, dropping back against the pillow. He reaches for the duvet and then tugs it all the way up over his head. When he speaks, his voice is muffled. “She’s in London today and wants to come for a visit. So, you know, I’ll be here for the rest of the day.” 

“Dan!” Phil laughs and pulls the duvet back down. Dan’s still got that yellow on his cheek, and his curls are bedhead fluffy. 

Dan sits up again. “I don’t want to see her.” 

Phil shifts in closer to him and wraps his arm around Dan’s. “Can you still say no?” 

He shakes his head. “I haven’t been to visit in ages. I saw my grandma once but I haven’t seen my mum since Christmas. I should.” 

“When is she coming?” 

“A few hours,” Dan says. “She said for lunch, maybe.” 

Another thought occurs to Phil. “Do you want me to clear out while she’s here?” 

Dan thinks about it for so long Phil isn’t sure if he’s actually going to respond, and then he shakes his head. “I think I want you to stay. I think… I think I want to come out to her.” 

“Wow.” It’s definitely not an ideal response, and Phil knows it, but he can’t help that his immediate reaction is fear.

Dan’s eyes are sharp. “What?”

“No, nothing.” He kisses Dan’s shoulder. “That’s amazing.”

“You don’t think I should?”

“Dan, I didn’t say that. I’m not saying that at all.”

“But,” Dan prompts.

“But nothing.”

Dan bites his lip. “I don’t know. I know my attempts to be brave have blown up in my face lately. But I’ve been talking about this with my therapist a lot.”

“About coming out to your mum?”

“Just coming out in general. We talk about how good being with you and coming out to Stevie and Théo has felt for me. She thinks telling my mum what I went through as a teenager would go a long way towards healing. My mum doesn’t even know that I used to—” He cuts himself off, eyes flicking down to the tattoo on his wrist. 

Phil’s heart clenches. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Dan shakes his head. “It’s better if I don’t spend a lot of time there in my head.”

“Okay.” Phil kisses his shoulder again. “Dan?”

“Hm.”

“Your attempts to be brave haven’t been attempts. You have been brave. And they haven’t blown up. You’re doing brilliantly, okay?”

He grunts.

“I’m proud of you.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Dan says. “I’ll probably get scared and fail to do it.”

“That won’t make me less proud.”

Suddenly Phil is being pushed backwards. His head narrowly avoids smacking the headboard, and then Dan is straddling him. 

“Stop,” Dan says.

“Stop what?”

“Being so nice.”

Phil rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’ve said my peace, anyway.”

“You’re gonna stay, yeah? Help me face her?”

“Of course.”

“I can’t tell her we’re together.”

Phil sticks his thumb in his mouth, then reaches up to rub it along the yellow on Dan’s cheek. It smears against his skin, not coming off as cleanly as Phil was hoping. “It’s okay,” he says. “You don’t owe her anything.”

“Yeah,” Dan murmurs. “You’re right.”

Phil smiles. “Finally you admit it.” He pops his thumb back in his mouth and sucks off the slightly metallic lemon flavour of the paint. 

Dan lays himself flat on top of Phil, weighing him down deliciously. “I like you a lot.”

“Ditto.”

“Can you do something for me right now?”

“Of course,” Phil says, rubbing Dan’s side. “You want coffee?”

“Yeah.” Dan gives him a quick peck. “But first I want you to finger me.”

-

Their sheets have never needed a wash quite this badly.

-

Dan showers while Phil makes coffee. Phil showers after breakfast while Dan does the washing up.

Dan cleans the flat like a madman. Phil tries to help, but eventually he’s getting in the way more than anything, so he puts his time to better use by heading out to the shop for salad ingredients. Apparently Dan’s mum is almost as much of a health freak as Adrian.

He also takes the time to try and calm his own nerves. It doesn’t really matter that they aren’t coming out to her as a couple - it still involves him all the same because if she doesn’t take it well, he’ll be the one to try and pick the pieces of Dan back up again. 

He doesn’t know Karen Howell. Dan’s barely even spoken about her, outside of the odd jab at his family as a joke or the occasional story confided in moments of sharing. 

He usually likes to think the best of people. He likes to view everyone in the best possible light until they prove him wrong. But blind optimism feels dangerous here - like there’s too much at stake if he happens to be wrong. He almost finds himself resenting her just for the potential hurt she can bring crashing down on Dan with only a few wrong words. 

He tries not to think of the easy familiarity he had with Ben’s parents. It’s not the same at all; he knew them as a teenager, before he and Ben were anything. And Ben had a good relationship with them. They supported him more readily and enthusiastically than even Phil’s parents did at first. 

But he does wish he had some more experience with situations that aren’t ideal. He also wishes he could pick up the phone and ring his own mum for some comfort and advice, but he knows he can’t do that right now. He can’t explain to her why he’s worked himself into a state. 

Not that he blames Dan for that. It’s just - he’s not used to being the person who’s someone else’s person in quite this way. He wants to do it right. 

He’s debating what flavour crouton she might like when he gets a text from Dan telling him to hurry the fuck up. It’s followed by a screaming emoji and a heart and begging hands, which makes Phil smile a bit as he heads to the till. 

-

Karen Howell is a nice lady. She’s got the same dimples as Dan and the same eyes, and the hug she gives Phil as a greeting is surprisingly warm. The way Dan spoke of her, Phil expected someone colder and more distanced. 

The space between them is obvious from the start, though. She looks at Dan the same way Dan looks at her; a bit cautious, a bit curious. Phil wonders if they can really see how similar they are being in that way. 

She seems to want to know Dan, though. She chastises him slightly for the length of time that’s passed since he’s visited. She tells him how his brother is doing, then is surprised when Dan says he saw Adrian only a couple of months back. 

Karen shakes her head in exasperation and looks at Phil when she says, “Neither of my boys tell me anything without me pulling it from them.” 

“My mum would say the same,” Phil offers. It’s true of the past year, at least, even if it is a more recent development that’s already easing back toward closeness. 

“I suppose that’s just what happens when children grow up.” 

Phil doesn’t miss the way the muscle in Dan’s jaw clenches. He wishes he could pull his phone out and text him discreetly. He decides that he’ll excuse himself to use the toilet and do that if Dan gets any more tense.

“He was only here a couple days,” Dan says. “We didn’t spend much time together. Not really a riveting anecdote.”

Phil’s shoulders feel tight. He can’t blame Dan for his coldness, but from where he’s standing, Karen seems to be trying, and Dan seems not to be. It’s hard to watch. 

“Hopefully we can all get together sometime soon,” she says. “Once a year isn’t enough.”

Dan says, “Yeah, maybe.”

They lapse into silence then, and Phil can’t take it longer than thirty seconds before his skin is crawling with anxiety. “Does anyone want coffee?” he blurts. “Or tea? Or snacks?” 

Karen looks down at the mug of tea she’s already got clutched between her hands and Phil briefly considers burying his head between the cushions of the sofa. 

But Karen Howell is a nice lady. She laughs a little and says, “Sure. I could use a refill. Thank you, Phil.”

He practically runs to the kitchen. He can still hear the conversation, or lack thereof, but it’s a profound relief to get some distance from the chain link fence of tension that Dan has built between himself and his mother, even if only long enough to put the kettle on and wait for the water to boil. 

“So,” Karen says. “Have you spoken to your dad at all?”

“No.”

Phil’s shoulders immediately hike back up to his ears, but Karen’s response is not at all what he was dreading.

“Quite right.”

Dan sounds as surprised by that as Phil is. “What?”

“Well, he’s a bit of a cunt sometimes, isn’t he?”

Dan snorts. Phil wishes he could see his face.

“Yeah,” Dan says. “He really is.”

Phil stares at the gently rolling water in the kettle and wonders if maybe Dan will take this moment of almost-privacy to say the words to her, but he doesn’t, and once the kettle’s boiled Phil has no excuses left. 

He makes himself another coffee and Karen another tea and then rejoins them. 

-

She stays for two hours. She asks Dan about his work and talks about a couple of his articles she’s read. She asks Phil about uni and his life, in a general sense. She compliments the salad. 

It’s fine. It’s a normal, slightly stilted encounter that doesn’t seem all that disastrous. 

Except the longer they sit across the table from each other, the quieter Dan gets. Phil watches the way his shoulders pull in and he seems to tuck himself down small. His eyes stare at the table top and he barely touches his food. 

Karen has an afternoon meeting and she says she needs to go. She gives Phil another polite hug and then he steps back, giving them another moment together if Dan wants it, if Dan needs it. 

Dan just hugs her and returns her whispered, “I love you,” and then she’s gone. 

He turns and looks at Phil once the door is closed. There’s a lost expression on his face that makes Phil ache. 

“Dan—” Phil starts to say. 

Dan just shakes his head and says, “Don’t.” 

So Phil doesn’t. He frowns and stands there and starts to feel just as lost as Dan looks. He doesn’t take a step toward Dan, just waits and waits and waits. 

“I just—” Dan finally says. He groans and rubs his hands over his face. “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”

“Okay,” Phil says, though he has no idea what Dan can’t do. 

Then Dan grabs his jacket from the hook beside the door and jams his feet into his trainers and Phil realizes exactly what it is Dan can’t do. 

He can’t stay. 

-

“Hello?”

Ian’s voice is a sound for sore ears. Phil curls his legs up to his chest, mobile pressed tightly to his ear and says, “Hi.”

“Oi, mate, long time no talk. I was starting to wonder if you were dead.”

Phil doesn’t bother pointing out that Ian could just as easily have rung him. It’s true, but it’s pretty clear that Phil’s the one who’s been a bit distracted lately. “Yeah. Sorry. Not dead. Not quite.”

“Uh oh. That doesn’t sound good.”

“Just… tell me about your life,” Phil all but begs. “I miss you lot.”

“Aww,” Ian coos, and if Phil didn’t know him better, he’d assume it was a mocking tone. “We miss you too, uncle Phil.”

“How’s Em?”

“Spirited as ever. Too smart for her own good. Or for mine, anyway.”

“You don’t actually let her watch Game of Thrones, do you?” Phil asks. 

“Christ, no. What kind of dad do you take me for? I think she saw an ad for it somewhere, I don’t know.”

“How’s Lauren?”

“She’s fine, mate. We’re all fine. It’s just the same old up here. You’re the one with the fancy new life.”

Phil scoffs. “Fancy. Right.”

“You’re a London man now.”

“I’m actually coming home soon.”

“Wait, what? Like, moving back?”

“No, god no. Mum’s coming back from Florida. I’ve been summoned for a visit.”

“Em’s gonna be chuffed. She says I’m not as funny as you.”

Phil actually laughs at that. “She really is a smart kid.”

“Ha ha,” Ian says dryly.

“I’m bringing Dan.”

“Dan, like— your flatmate? The sexy one who drove you to ring me in the middle of the night about your—”

“Shut up.”

Ian laughs. “How’d that go by the way, you never told me. Is it weird hooking up with a complete stranger?”

“I dunno. I never did it.”

Ian clicks his tongue. 

“I have a boyfriend now,” Phil blurts, then clamps down on the inside of his cheek, immediately regretting it.

“Are you serious, mate?”

“Um. Yeah.”

There’s a long silence on the other end of the line. “So. You’re so attracted to your flatmate that it’s driving you mental. You’re bringing that flatmate home to meet your mum. And now you have a boyfriend.”

Phil pushes his glasses up so he can fling his arm over his eyes. “Shit,” he mutters.

“Should I pretend you didn’t say any of that?”

“Yes,” Phil says. “Definitely.”

“Right then.”

Another long silence. 

“So how’s work?” Ian asks.

Phil barks a weird cough laugh into the phone. “Piss off.”

“Do I get to meet him, at least?”

“Yeah.” Phil slides just glasses back on and digs himself out of the sofa crease. “If he still wants to come, anyway.”

“Did something happen?”

Phil sighs. He’s still trying to think of how to talk about it without feeling like he’s betraying Dan’s trust when his phone buzzes against his ear.

When he sees that it’s a text from Dan, his heart leaps up into his throat. “I gotta go,” he says to Ian.

“This has been a rollercoaster.”

“I’ll ring you back soon, yeah? Tell you when I’m coming home.”

“Fine, fine.”

Phil hangs up and swipes open on Dan’s message almost frantically.

_sorry i left like that. again. i’m fine. just needed to think._

_Dan, it’s okay. I understand._

_really?_

Phil weighs each word heavily as he types it out. He really has no idea what he’s doing or what it is that Dan needs to hear from him, so he eventually just sends the message anyway. _Well I probably don’t understand exactly how you feel but I understand that you needed space to think._

It looks like Dan types for forever but when he gets the message all it says is: _thanks_

He wants to ask Dan if he’s coming back soon, or tonight, or at all. He wants to ask if Dan is alright, really. If he’s waiting or expecting Phil to do something. He wants to ask for a rulebook. 

But he knows that doesn’t really exist. 

He sends Dan back a heart emoji. 

-

For the half hour they trade texts, Dan keeps replying at odd intervals while Phil has absolutely no patience and responds back instantly. 

He doesn’t stop feeling like he swallowed a rock or wondering if maybe he should have said or done something differently, even though he knows deep down that this is about Dan and Dan alone. 

He’s not expecting it when his phone rings and he sees Dan’s face on the screen. It’s a photo he took before they were ever dating, a snapshot taken with laughter as Dan reacted to something to the movie they were watching that night. (Interview with a Vampire, Phil’s pretty sure.)

“Dan?” he asks, which is stupid, because he knows it’s Dan. 

“Yeah.” Dan’s voice sounds more distant than normal, in a way that technology is more to blame than sadness. “Sorry, service down here is shit, my texts kept not sending.” 

“Where are you?” 

“Oh… the abandoned train station,” Dan says. 

Right. Of course. The place Dan literally told Phil that he goes to be alone and think sometimes. 

The anxious panic in his head immediately wonders if Dan expected Phil to come find him. But… Dan didn’t ask Phil to come after him, so surely it’s irrational. 

“I’m sorry I just took off like that,” Dan says. “I just needed to be alone for a bit.” 

“No, it’s okay,” Phil says. “Though next time I can always give you the flat. I don’t want you to feel like you have to leave.” 

“I know,” Dan says. “I just wanted to be here.”

“Because of what happened with your mum?” 

“You mean what didn’t happen.” Dan sounds resigned, but… somehow not as upset as Phil had expected. He isn’t really sure what he’d been imagining. Maybe something like the day before, their failed bedroom attempts. 

“It’s alright, you know,” Phil says. “I didn’t come out to my parents for ages after Ben and I started fooling around.” 

“We’re not just fooling around,” Dan says. “Right?” 

“Of course not.” He knows Dan already knows that, but he doesn’t mind repeating it if that’s what Dan needs to hear right now. “We’re dating. We’re together. And that’s true if your mum knows about you, or us, or not.” 

“I still want to tell her. I don’t want to just give up on that like I’ve given up on so many other things.”

“Dan,” Phil says, not stern, but firm enough that he reckons Dan won’t be able to ignore his conviction. “In the time I’ve known you, I’ve genuinely never seen you give up on anything.” He wishes they were in the same place at the moment so he could take Dan’s hand and kiss his knuckles to accentuate the point he’s about to make, but words will have to do for now. “Look at your tattoo,” he instructs. “That’s proof you don’t give up.”

Dan is quiet for so long that Phil has to pull his phone from his ear to check that the call hasn’t dropped or accidentally been muted. It hasn’t, so he waits, hoping he hasn’t gone and made things worse by bringing up painful traumatic memories.

But when Dan speaks, he says, “I love you.”

Phil’s response is so, so stupid. “You do?” he asks. He can’t help it. He wants to hear it again. 

“So much. You know I do.”

“You know I do too.”

“Say it,” Dan says. 

“I love you, Dan.”

“Someday everyone’s going to know,” Dan says quietly. “Everyone who knows me is going to know that you’re mine.”

Phil has to press his hand against his belly to keep the butterflies from carrying him away. “Yeah. They will.”

“Do you remember when I brought you down here?” Dan asks.

“Of course. I’ll never forget that. I was such a mess and you cared so much. And you told me stuff about yourself. I was half in love with you then already.”

“Me too,” Dan murmurs. “When we were sitting on the train, I thought about kissing you. I wanted to.”

Phil’s already up off the sofa, halfway to the door. “We can make that happen, you know.”

He can practically see Dan’s smile through the phone. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He jams his feet in his shoes and closes the door behind him. “Don’t go anywhere. I’m coming for you.”


	38. Chapter 38

*

*

Atelier is lively on a Saturday evening. It’s later than they’d normally be open, but there’s a lesbian hen do happening and they booked Stevie in for a quite good rate to give them a creative anatomy painting lesson - each woman will be leaving with their own hand-painted portrait of their vibrator of choice. Stevie’s teaching the actual class so Phil’s job is mainly drink refills and fetching different colors and new brushes and occasionally cleaning up the messes that happen when inebriated women are around paint.

Phil doesn’t feel nearly as out of place there as perhaps he should. There’s wine flowing and they’ve brought a variety of treats that they share with Stevie and Phil happily. He pauses at the table to snap a picture of the breast cookies - done in a variety of shapes and sizes.

 _first time you’ve ever had a tit in your mouth, eh?_ Dan texts back.

Phil responds with, _Except my mum’s._

He’s a bit sad not to have the evening at home, but a shouted request for music puts it out of his mind.

-

It’s almost midnight before the women decide it’s time to move on to part two of their night. Stevie and Phil stand around with one of the brides while the women take turns using the toilet before they head out.

“Where are you off to next?” Stevie asks, leaning over the counter. She’s flecked in paint - like most of the women are - but Phil knows she’s had a good time, too.

“Oh, doll, we’re going to _heaven_ —” She drawls it out in a southern accent that reminds Phil a bit of Dan’s.

“Heaven!” Stevie claps. “Very nice.”

“What’s Heaven?” Phil asks.

All of the women turn to look at him. One whose name he doesn’t remember says, “Mate. Are you sure you’re gay?”

Phil thinks of what he and Dan did in bed the night before. “Yes. I’m definitely sure.”

Stevie pats his arm. “Phil’s only moved to London about six months ago,” she says, by way of explanation. “Heaven is a gay club.”

“The oldest in London,” the bride says. “We might go to Eagle after that.”

“Oh!” Phil laughs. “I’m not much of the club sort.”

“You should try it again now,” Stevie says. “Take _ton petit ami_ out on the town.”

“Oh, I don’t… I don’t know if Dan would love that?”

The women have lost interest in them, checking their numbers before they get ready to leave. Stevie and Phil’s conversation goes on pause until they’re all out the door.

Stevie locks it behind them and then they walk to the back room again, starting the familiar routine of cleaning up after a class.

“Have you actually asked Dan?” Stevie asks him.

“No, but you know he’s got like, issues. Being out.”

She shrugs. “That’s even more reason if you ask me. Sometimes it feels different in a place like that. You’re no one and everyone with the crowd. It’s a celebration, yeah? A chance to be who you are with people who won’t judge you. That’s what Théo says, anyway. I’ve gone with him before. He spreads his wings there. Gets to be who he often can’t.”

“Oh,” Phil says, because when she explains it like that, he realizes that it does make sense. “I don’t even know if _I’d_ like it, though. Loud music and drunk people and… leather. So much leather.”

She laughs at him. “I can’t entirely disagree with that. But I would say don’t rule it out?”

“Yeah,” Phil says, his mind already drifting. It kind of seems perfect when he really thinks about it. Dan’s been trying so hard lately. It’s largely been two steps forward, one step back, but losing himself in a crowd of people who are just like him might actually be exactly what he needs. “Maybe I’ll talk to him about it.”

“You’d be the envy of every man there,” Stevie says with a smirk. “Dan is a very beautiful boy.”

Phil rolls his eyes. “He’s a man, not a boy. I’m not robbing any cradles.”

“Just imagine bringing Dan to a crowded club of queer men, Philipe. Then imagine being the only one who gets to touch him.”

A thrill does run through him at the thought. If only mousy, nerdy sixteen year old closeted Philly L. from Rossendale could see him now. “It could be fun,” he admits.

“It could be,” she says smugly.

“Shut up.” He dips his fingers in a bit of murky paint water and flicks it at her. “Stop being right all the time.”

“Never.”

-

Dan is waiting up for Phil when he gets home, tucked into the corner of the sofa wearing his usual outfit of a jumper and pants. He’s typing away on his laptop as best he can with one hand while the other holds a glass of red wine.

He smiles at Phil warmly when Phil comes in, closing the laptop and reaching his arms out. Phil crawls into the embrace, flopping himself down right on top of Dan’s body.

“Getting sloshed without me?”

“Not without,” Dan corrects, downing the rest of his drink and carefully placing the glass on the coffee table. He wraps his arms around Phil and squeezes. “In conjunction with.”

“No big words,” Phil mumbles into Dan’s sweater.

“Says the English language major.” Dan buries his nose in Phil’s hair, seeping his fondness directly into Phil’s soul. Now that Phil is home, he feels completely exhausted, but in a nice way. In the way that he reckons coming home should feel.

He lifts his head up and stares up at Dan like a puppy. Or perhaps like exactly what he is, a lovesick adult man in the happiest relationship of his life. “Missed you.”

“You too,” Dan murmurs, slipping Phil’s glasses off and pressing little kisses all over his face. “How was the night?”

He doesn’t really need to ask. They’d been texting on and off the whole time, but it still makes Phil warm inside. “Fine. Good. Although the lesbians gay shamed me a little.”

Dan frowns. “Why?”

“I didn’t know what Heaven was.”

“The club?” Dan asks.

“You know it?”

Dan shrugs. “I’ve heard of it.”

“Have you been?”

“No.”

Phil’s heart hurts a little at the thought of Dan so desperately closeted and alone, probably googling queer clubs in London and beating himself up for not feeling secure enough to ever go. Phil doesn’t _know_ that that’s the case, but he reckons it’s a safe bet. Dan googles everything. And he’s very good at beating himself up.

At the risk of upsetting Dan, Phil says, “Stevie thinks I should take you.”

He just cocks an eyebrow.

“She says she goes with Théo sometimes and he gets to be himself there for a little while.”

Dan is chewing his lip now.

“She also says everyone there will be jealous of me because you’re so sexy.”

Dan snorts. “Fuck off.”

“She’s not wrong.”

“Is that all I am to you?” Dan teases. “Arm candy?”

Phil doesn’t feel the need to defend himself. He just buries his face in Dan’s neck and starts kissing. Dan responds instantly, tipping his head back and sighing. Phil has to laugh a little. “You’re so easy.”

“Only for you.”

Phil’s heart rate speeds up nervously at what he’s about to say. “So let me show you off a little.”

He half expects Dan to pull away upset, but all that happens is that he slides his fingers up into Phil’s hair. “You’d like that?”

Phil gives Dan’s skin a little bite and nods. “I’m proud of you. In all the ways, but like. Also the shallow way.”

Dan hums, and Phil’s not sure if it’s because he’s started to properly suck at Dan’s neck, or because Dan likes the words coming out of Phil’s mouth. Maybe it’s both. Either way, it’s encouraging.

“It could be fun,” Phil says, right into Dan’s ear. “You could wear your lace shirt. I’ll buy you overpriced drinks. You can laugh at my attempts to dance. We could sneak off to a dark corner and make out a little.”

“Or we could make out in front of everyone.”

“Would you want to do that?” Phil asks.

“Oh.” Dan smirks. “You like that.”

“I mean…” Phil doesn’t actually deny it. “Just a bit, yeah.”

“Then yeah. I think we can make that happen.” Dan’s breathing is a little heavier and Phil realizes that he’s not the only one who likes the idea of this.

“You want to be shown off?” Phil shifts up a bit and cups the back of Dan’s head, rubbing a thumb in deep circles at the base of Dan’s skull. Dan melts a little into the touch. “You want me to take you out in a crowd of people where no one knows us and make sure everyone knows you’re there with me?”

“You fucking…” Dan shakes his head a tiny bit. “You’re a fucking terror, Phil Lester.”

Phil grins. “I’ll ask Stevie when they’re going next.”

-

Stevie isn’t content to wait.

As soon as Phil mentions it, she’s on the phone with Théo planning an outing for them all, and that’s why it’s barely a week before Phil finds himself lounging on Stevie’s bed watching her get ready.

He’s nervous. He’s not sure why, but he’s nervous. It’s not as though he’s never gone out for a night with friends, but… it’s been a long time, and these friends are not the same crowd he ran around with at uni. Stevie isn’t Ian. Dan isn’t Ben. This relationship isn’t that relationship. It all feels brand new and shiny and still a bit fragile but so, so exciting.

Dan’s bringing clothes for Phil to change into. He’s a bit nervous about that, too, because Dan refused to say what he was bringing for Phil and sounded to be enjoying the process of outfit composition far too much.

Phil hopes Dan’s own outfit plays into that. He has a sneaking suspicion as to what Dan might wear but he hadn’t mentioned he. He hadn’t wanted Dan to feel cornered into anything.

She picks up her phone and checks it. “Théo will be here in half an hour, where is your man?”

“Should be almost here,” Phil says. “I told him when we left the shop.”

“Fantastique,” she says. “Are you ready to burn the dance floor?”

He laughs. “Is that a saying?”

“Of course it is,” she says.

He doesn’t actually believe her, but who is he to call her on it?

“Not in the least bit,” he says. “I can’t even dance!”

“What!” She spins on the little stool at her vanity. “Everyone can dance, mon chou!”

“Not me,” Phil promises. “Two left feet. And no coordination.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “I’ve seen that bum, Philip. If nothing else you stand in a spotlight and you shake it.”

He practically guffaws at her. “No!”

“Yes!” She walks over to him and holds her hands out. “I’ll show you.”

“No way.” He tries to actually curl in on himself, as though he has the power to physically manhandle him away from her mountain of pillows.

She laughs and shoves at him and grabs at him and in the end he lets her halfway drag him off anyway. She pulls him into the lounge and turns to an actual old fashioned record player, flipping through a box of records and pulling out one. Phil doesn’t recognize the music that starts to play but somehow it fits the vibe of their evening totally.

She grabs his arms and starts to move with him. It doesn’t work; his body just doesn’t move like hers. She’s got a grace and a fluidity that he couldn’t ever hope to have.

But it’s fun. He shakes and jumps and shimmies in all his awkward glory because this is Stevie and he doesn’t feel judged.

He doesn’t notice the door open until he catches movement out of the corner of his eye. Dan is standing there with his head peeking around. “What am I interrupting here?”

Phil laughs and steps back. “I think Stevie was trying to teach me how to dance.”

Dan looks at Stevie. “Brave. Have your feet survived?”

“I wasn’t that close,” Stevie concedes with a grin at Dan as he comes all the way into the flat and shuts the door behind him. “Leaving that proximity for you.”

“I’m good with that,” Dan says.

Phil takes a moment just to look, because Dan does look good. His hair is styled so that his curls look tighter and more defined and he’s got on a pair of jeans that look like they could be painted on, ink black with rips strategically placed.

“Brought a different shirt to uh, change into before we leave,” Dan says. It’s not a surprise that he’s noticed Phil looking. Phil isn’t very subtle. He doesn’t care to be.

Stevie just laughs at them and says, “Alright, my dears. The guest room is yours for dressing room purposes. I must go to put my night face on.”

“What does the night face entail?” Phil asks.

She flips her hair out, a fan of cornflower blue. “ _Glitter_.”

-

Phil sits on the edge of the guest room bed. “So what did you bring me? Do I need to regret letting you wield this kind of power?”

“I mean, yes,” Dan says. “But don’t worry. I think you’ll like it. Or you’ll like how I like it, if nothing else.”

“... do I want to know what that means?”

Dan pokes his tongue against his cheek in a blatant and hilarious way that makes Phil cackle. “I’m already sold.”

“Good.” Dan carefully pulls an outfit out of the bag. He starts with fresh jeans for Phil, since his wardrobe has migrated into half perpetually paint-flecked work clothes and half things that are appropriate to wear everywhere else.

After that is an ASOS bag. “You went shopping!”

“Yep,” Dan says. “Deal with it, bub. I have a new shirt, I wanted you to have one, too.”

“Oh—” Phil says, surprised at what Dan pulls out. “I… I love that.”

It’s black, mostly, but with a silvery teal and blue design of what Phil figures must be some sort of almost jungle print. He gets a closer look and realizes there are occasional animal faces mixed into the streaks and splashes of colour.

“Yeah?” Dan grins. “You really like it?”

“I love it! It’s like… I dunno. It’s me. It feels like me. But me I wouldn’t have known was me. I guess what I’m saying is - you know me.”

“Good,” Dan says, and his voice sounds so soft and pleased. “I want to know you better than anyone.”

Phil can’t resist leaning in for a kiss when Dan says things like that. “I honestly think you might be there already.”

“What about Ian?”

Phil shrugs. “I dunno. I mean, I think he knows a version of me? He knows who I was as a teenager. And… he knew me when I still had a dad.” He swallows thickly, then clears his throat, determined not to let himself go down any mental paths that could ruin this night. “Anyway. The me that I am now, you definitely know better than anyone.”

Dan smiles. “Good.”

Phil starts unbuttoning his work shirt. “I’m excited to introduce you to him, though. Two of my very favourite people.”

Dan climbs off the bed and pulls his jumper off. “I’m looking forward to it too. And also dreading it.”

“I get that.” He picks up his shirt and pulls the tags off before putting it on. “You can still change your mind.”

“Hell no. I’m coming.”

Phil watches Dan pull the black lace button up out of his backpack, trying not to smile too widely. “Good. I don’t wanna go back without you.”

“You’ve met my mum,” Dan points out. “It’s only fair.”

“Your mum was nice.”

Dan shrugs. Phil decides a change of subject is in order. “I’m really glad you decided to wear the shirt.” He watches Dan push his arms through the sleeves and start to do up the buttons.

“I’m not gonna lie, I’m pissing myself with fear,” Dan admits. “It’s so…” He holds his arms out to display himself, the shirt only half buttoned. “Gay.”

“Yeah,” Phil says, finishing the top button on his own shirt and climbing off the bed to walk over to where Dan is stood. “Exactly.” He leans down and kisses along Dan’s collarbone. “You look amazing.”

“It’s just scary,” Dan murmurs. “I should’ve bought you something campier so we could match.”

“Hmm.” Phil finishes buttoning Dan’s shirt for him and then takes a step back to admire. “Would that make you feel better?” he asks. “If I looked more gay.”

“That’s not—”

Phil cuts him off. “Yes or no?”

Dan bites his lip. And nods.

“Okay then. In that case, I’ve got to go see a woman about some glitter.”

-

Stevie is absolutely ecstatic when Phil requests she give him a night face of his own. He sits on her bed and she faffs about for a solid ten minutes before she even touches him, ruminating with Dan about what kind of glitter would best complement Phil’s eyes. It makes Phil warm from head to toe at how fully immersed Dan gets in the whole process.

Théo has arrived by now, and made drinks for the lot of them. He’s not wearing lace or glitter, but he did let Stevie paint his lips blue. Phil’s having a hard time keeping his eyes off it, and he can tell Dan is too. He’s looking forward to later, when the night is over and he and Dan are lying in bed together, admitting to each other that they both felt a little tingle seeing Théo with a sapphire mouth.

Stevie’s makeup matches. She’s got navy blue eyelids that sparkle when she blinks, with a crescent moon of holographic glitter cradling her left eye and the same shade of lipstick as her boyfriend. The two of them really are an obscenely attractive couple, but Phil can’t bring himself to feel any kind of envy. He’s got an obscenely attractive boyfriend of his own, after all.

An insanely brave one, too. That fact is not lost on Phil at all. That’s why he’s letting Stevie put glue on his face. Actual glue, to which she’s now begun to stick individuals chunks of blue and green and silver glitter. He anticipates it’s going to be hell trying to get it off later, but it’s worth it for the way Dan is looking at him now.

-

This isn’t the kind of night life he’s used to, this isn’t the London he’s used to.

Since he moved here he’s gotten used to a certain feeling of the city. It’s pigeons and drizzly days and the smell of paint and the sound of sirens outside their flat.

The city looks different tonight, though. It’s another kind of feeling all together, walking with friends and laughing from the moment they leave Théo and Stevie’s flat. He thought it would feel more like all those club and pub nights at uni, but it doesn’t.

He’s not a different person tonight, but he feels just a bit like it. He feels brave and bold and proud to be side by side with Dan in that sexy lace shirt. He sees people look at them and stare and he’s proud of that, too.

They look good. Alright, maybe Stevie and Théo a bit more - they are stunning, especially Stevie in an outfit meant to catch anyone’s eye. But Phil doesn’t think he’s entirely giving in to his personal bias when he says he and Dan look good as well.

“I don’t know what to expect,” Phil sheepishly admits, laughing. “You know me in new places. I’ll probably get lost trying to find the toilet and end up in someone’s sex dungeon.”

Dan clears his throat. “Well, you’re not going to the toilets alone, then.”

“They’d just send me back!” Phil argues.

Dan lifts an eyebrow at him. “Please.”

“Please,” Stevie agrees. “But fear not, mon chou scintillant. I’ll keep you safe.”

She doesn’t even come up to his shoulder, but he believes it.

“No need for nerves. It’s a good vibe,” Théo says. “Good music. Good spaces.”

“Good people?” Phil asks.

Théo laughs. It’s a rich, deep sound. “I’m sure not all. But for most, yes.”

-

The tube is crowded, and given the part of London they’re headed to most of the people pressing into them are decked out in all their nightlife glory as well. It smells like sweat and alcohol and the skunky stench of someone’s spliff.

He and Dan hold onto the same bit of railing, pressed shoulder to shoulder together. It’s not an intimate touch but it feels it to Phil, and he can’t stop turning to look at Dan. Dan’s usually looking back.

It might help that the drinks Théo made them rest warm in his gut. It makes him feel loose and lax, like a comforting blanket around the nerves that still exist somewhere.

He keeps one hand on the rail but rests the palm of his other against the small of Dan’s back.

-

Lights flash and bounce around a room that probably seems cavernous by the light of day, but right now feels barely able to contain the infinite sea of bodies writhing to the beat.

Dan looks fucking gorgeous under those lights and Phil knows his resolve to leave the baggage behind at the door tonight. Phil slips a hand in Dan’s and they follow the height of Théo through a winding path to the bar.

-

If he thought he had any reason to be nervous, Stevie’s boisterous laughter chases those nerves away. She won’t let awkwardness stand, twirling in her shimmery skirt with her drink held high above her head. She pulls them all in until they surround her, poking and prodding and ordering them about until their bodies all move. Théo is most at ease, smiling fondly down at her.

Dan loosens up quickly, too. He looks like a kid in a candy store, his eyes catching on people walking by. Phil would love to crawl inside his head and know what Dan is thinking of every pair of stiletto heels on a guy, every decked out drag queen, every guy in nothing but the tiniest of shorts, every gender non-conforming person strutting around like this whole fucking club is their home and their stage rolled up in one.

It’s fun dancing with Stevie, but suddenly Phil’s ready to be alone with Dan. He catches her eye and tips his head toward the teeming dance floor.

She flashes a wide grin at him and blows him a kiss.

Once she and Théo have gone off to lose themselves in the crowd, Phil hooks his arm around Dan’s lower back and pulls him in close. He puts his mouth to Dan’s ear and asks, “Having fun?”

Dan nods. “This was a good idea.”

“All credit goes to Stevie.”

“Nah. I could never do this without you holding my hand.”

“Everyone’s looking at you, you know.”

“Haven’t noticed.” Dan drapes his arms around Phil’s neck and starts moving slightly to the pounding bass line. Not dancing, really. He’s got a thigh in between Phil’s. “I’ve just been looking at you.”

-

Before too long they find themselves in a dark corner of the club, separate from the crowd, but not really. Anyone who looked could still see them easily.

Phil couldn’t care less. Dan’s got him pinned to the wall, kissing him in a way that could only be described as sloppy. Which maybe shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but Phil’s decided that nothing is sexier than Dan’s enthusiasm.

His enthusiasm right now is apparent. It’s pressing hot and hard through two sets of jeans against Phil’s thigh. Phil’s jaw is sore and his chin is wet with spit that isn’t his own. He can only imagine how irrevocably fucked up his glitter is by now. He had to stop a moment ago to fish a chunk of it out of his mouth.

He’s not even drunk, and he knows Dan isn’t either. Not on alcohol anyway. The drinks they had can’t hold a candle to the aphrodisiac that is feeling safe and seen. That’s how Phil feels right now, surrounded by people who’ve struggled the same way he has.

He wants to ask Dan if that’s how he feels too, but he reckons he doesn’t really need to, because Dan’s got a hand pressed between Phil’s legs, feeling the shape of him under his jeans. Public fondling is a pretty clear indicator that Dan’s not feeling particularly inhibited.

“You can’t wank me in front of other people,” Phil says breathlessly. “We haven’t negotiated that kink yet.”

Dan pulls Phil by his belt loops. “Then let’s get the fuck out of here.”

-

He texts Stevie once they’re out, just so she doesn’t worry when they don’t manage to find each other again. He’s not surprised when she doesn’t reply. He can’t imagine hearing or even feeling a phone go off on that dance floor.

Maybe he should feel guilty that they hadn’t even stayed much longer than an hour, but he doesn’t. He thinks they got what they needed out of that. Now what they need is at home, in their bedroom.

He looks over at Dan, who is looking back at him. “I got us an Uber,” he says. “Fuck the tube.”

“Good.” Phil moves in closer to Dan again, drawn to him like there’s something magnetic between them. His hands go to Dan’s waist and he draws in until their chests are bumping.

He loves how he has to tilt his head up just the tiniest bit so they’re eye to eye. “I want you to fuck me,” Dan says.

Phil has to shut his eyes. A pure wave of want crashes into him. “Are—”

“I’m sure,” Dan says. He grabs Phil with his hands on Phil’s lower back, just almost at his ass.

They’re standing in public with not an inch of space between them. Their noses brush and Dan nuzzles against the side of Phil’s face.

Anyone could see. Everyone can see. Phil hopes they’re watching.

-

If Phil could choose any moment to lock forever in his memory, it would be this one. He wants a snapshot of Dan just like he is right now - the way the moonlight bathes his body, catching the glitter on his skin and making it sparkle. The long column of his neck, the strength in his torso and his thighs as he rides Phil’s dick.

There’s mind-blowing pleasure in it, of course; but it feels like more than just the act. Dan is art when he’s like this, unashamed and chasing his own pleasure. Phil runs his hands up Dan’s thighs, against the grain of the fine hairs that grow there. He squeezes the muscles as they work, and Dan groans.

“Is it good?” Phil asks breathlessly. He doesn’t need to ask, but he does anyway.

Dan doesn’t answer, just takes Phil’s hand by the wrist and guides it to his cock. He must know that Phil won’t have the coordination to do a good job of touching him right now, but a warm fist wrapped around him seems to be enough. His head falls back, and Phil has to shut his eyes to keep from losing his composure.

Not that he’s composed at all, but at least he’s managed so far to stave off his own release. He wants Dan to have what he needs for as long as he needs it, but the display in front of him is obscene in its beauty. It’s more than any mere mortal should be allowed to experience.

And even still, despite all the physical sensations and the maddening sight that is Dan’s body flushed and moving on top of him, Phil’s mind keeps coming back to the two of them stood on the pavement outside the club waiting for the car. He can’t stop thinking about Dan kissing him out in the open and saying he was sure.

There could never be anything better than that. Dan feeling sure. Dan feeling safe.

But watching Dan’s orgasm is a close second. Phil’s still got a hold of him where he’s hard, and he doesn’t let go until his knuckles are painted pearly and warm. Dan falls forward onto Phil’s chest and pants into his ear: “Keep going.”

So he does.

-

There’s no emotional release afterwards. There are no tears of relief, no words of profundity. They’re sweating everywhere, sticky, sore, exhausted. Dan laughs when Phil’s stomach growls like some kind of rabid badger.

There’s glitter everywhere. _Everywhere._ Dan says he can feel it in his ass crack. Phil’s got some on his hand, stuck to the drying come coating the backs of his fingers.

It’s disgusting. And Phil’s never been happier. They lie there in a filth of their own making, holding each other, taking turns kissing each other’s temples, tasting each other’s salt.

“Hey Dan,” Phil says.

“Mm.”

“We’re going to Manchester next week.”


	39. Chapter 39

*

*

“Jesus Christ, mate,” Dan says, reaching out and slapping a hand down on Phil’s constantly bouncing knee. “You’ve got to cut the sugar down by at least half, you’re zazzed out of your frickin’ mind.” 

“Can’t help it,” Phil says. “It’s not the sugar. I’m just… nervous.” 

Dan moves his hand back away once Phil’s leg stills, but he gives Phil a sympathetic smile that’s just as reassuring as the touch. “Not too late to change your mind. We can always get off before Piccadilly and go back home.” 

“No,” Phil says. He knows Dan doesn’t entirely get that Phil is both nervous and excited. For Dan, going home is just a flat out negative experience with little redeeming value. When he gets on a train to go to Wokingham, it’s with nothing but dread. 

Phil isn’t dreading this. He gets to see his mum for the first time in ages. He gets to see Ian and Lauren and Emily. He gets to visit his favourite sweets shop in town and eat his mum’s cakes and just bask in the familiarity of everything. 

And he gets to introduce Dan to it all, as well. 

So he’s excited. He doesn’t want to turn around and go home. 

But he’s nervous, too. He feels like things won’t be the same at all, even though he knows they will. His mum’s been back a week, she won’t have turned the family house upside down in that short amount of time. She’s probably only just finished the dusting and restocking the pantry and the cabinets and laundering all the bedding. 

He’s scared of it being different but he’s scared of it being the same, too. 

He takes a breath and leans back against the seat. 

“Hey,” Dan says, voice gently cajoling. “Tell me about Rossendale again?” 

It’s a blatant tactic to help distract Phil out of his own head, and he’s grateful for it. “There’s this one brick wall that I think I accidentally knocked down…” 

-

His mum insisted on picking them up, even though he’d tried to argue that they could take the bus from Manchester just as easily. When he sees her waiting on the platform, he’s overcome.

He holds her for a long time, hugging her tightly to his body. He’s never been away from her for this long, and the relief he feels at finding her looking almost exactly the same as she had when he left is immense.

“You’re so tan,” he says into her hair. 

“You’re so pale,” she counters. 

Dan is standing back a ways. Phil can practically feel his apprehension, but he needs this moment. He needs his mum all to himself, just for a few more seconds. She clings to him like she feels exactly the same. 

“Good Lord, I missed you, child,” she says.

He’s not going to cry. He’s not.

He swipes at his eyes as he finally pulls back. “You too, mum.”

She holds his shoulders, studying him. “Your hair is black again.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re looking thin.”

He rolls his eyes fondly. “You always say that.”

“It’s always true.”

“Well,” Phil says, nodding his head in Dan’s direction. “This bloke here makes me eat rabbit food.”

“Oi.” Dan’s hands are shoved in his pockets, and he smiles shyly. 

“Mum, this is Dan. My flatmate.”

“Of course it is,” she says. “I recognize that southern accent.”

He takes a few steps forward and holds out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you properly, Kath.”

She blows past his offer of a handshake for a hug. Phil reckons he’ll never get over the way Dan towers over the women in Phil’s life.

“Dan, love,” she says as she pulls away. “Do I need to cook you rabbit food?”

Dan gives her a blindingly adorable display of his dimple, but Phil is the one who actually answers the question.

“Mum, please don’t do any cooking at all.”

She swats his shoulder. “Horrible boy.”

He laughs and ducks out of the way of her hands, but she grabs him in for another hug. “We’ll go pick up some rabbit-safe food later,” he promises. 

She starts to fuss at him for not telling her a shopping list ahead of time as they head toward where she’s parked. Dan trails a step or two behind them and Phil twists his head around just to check and see if Dan’s ready to bolt or not. 

Dan does have a quiet expression on his face but he smiles reassuringly at Phil when he sees Phil looking, so Phil turns back to his mum to bask in the barely-contained joy of her mum lecture. 

-

“So this is your childhood bedroom?” Dan asks. 

“This is it.” Phil spreads his arms in a displaying gesture. “Doesn’t look much like it did when I was growing up, but… same bed, I think.” 

Dan lifts an eyebrow. “Do I really wanna know all the things you did in that bed?” 

There’s a moment where it hangs between them. Dan only asked it in jest but Phil is faced with a sudden lot of memories that he knows aren’t the right answer to that question. He hesitates so long that he sees something flicker across Dan’s face, and he answers quickly and forcefully after that. “No. You should be more interested in what I’m going to do in it.” 

He meets Dan’s eyes and smirks. Whatever sudden doubt or insecurity was there is replaced by a laugh from Dan and a very similar expression shot right back at Phil. 

There’s been a lot of that lately, since their club night. A lot of looking. A lot of doing more than looking. A lot of self-satisfied smirks. 

“You wouldn’t,” Dan says. “You’re far too proper. Your childhood home! Me, your innocent flatmate you brought home for a visit! You wouldn’t.”

“You really underestimate how tempting you can be,” Phil tells him, and grabs Dan’s bag from over his arm. He hooks his fingers through the belt loops of Dan’s jeans and walks him backwards. 

Dan glances down at his bag. “Am I staying in here?” 

Phil shrugs. “I can show you the guest room. But the bags are fine for now. If mum comes up I’ll just say I’m showing you my old room.” 

“Which is exactly what you are doing,” Dan points out. 

“Exactly. I’m showing you… the bed, specifically.” He turns them and pushes Dan down. Dan laughs and goes, sitting at the foot of it and looking up at Phil. 

Phil reaches down, smiling softly as he pushes Dan’s curls off of his forehead. 

“You’re so happy here,” Dan says, catching Phil’s hand and bringing it to his mouth to kiss it. 

“I’m happy you’re here,” Phil tells him. 

“I’m happy I’m here too.” Dan lets go of Phil’s hand and braces himself with his palms flat on the bed behind him, leaning back. “Now, tell me where exactly that Buffy poster was?” 

-

They don’t spend very long in Phil’s room, despite Dan’s best attempts at dragging Phil for his teenage obsessions. Kath comes poking around to ask them if they want tea or coffee. 

“Coffee,” Phil says. “But I’ll make it. Do you have my—” 

“Instant, yes, yes.” She rolls her eyes fondly at him. “I do know you, child.” 

He smacks a kiss against her cheek. “Thanks, mum.” 

“Now what does Dan want?” she asks. 

“I dunno.” Phil looks over at Dan. “What _does_ Dan want?” 

He can practically see the slideshow of sarcastic answers that goes through Dan’s mind before he settles on a very parent-appropriate, “Green tea, if you’ve got it?” 

“We do,” she says, “But only because Cornelia likes it. There’s still some left from when she and Martyn were living here. I haven’t touched the stuff. Tastes like grass to me, if I’m honest.”

“I told you,” Phil says, elbowing her gently. “He likes rabbit food.”

“I’m glad he’s making you eat it too.” She turns to Dan. “I could never get this one to eat vegetables when he was a child. I had to blindfold him and let him watch telly at the table.”

Dan snorts.

“I was a weird kid,” Phil says, not bothering to defend himself. “That’s why I don’t have any younger siblings, right mum?”

She smiles, reaching out and stroking his cheek. “Oh, love. I hope you never took that to heart. You were a handful, but you sure did make life interesting, didn’t you?”

“Phil’s good at that,” Dan says. “Making life interesting.”

Phil snaps his head in Dan’s direction. It’s not a confession by any means, but there’s unadulterated affection in his voice, and a soft smile on his face.

If Kath notices, she doesn’t let on. “Indeed he is.”

Once their drinks are sorted, the three of them sit at the kitchen table together over a game of Scrabble that Phil insisted upon. They chat and laugh and it’s nice. It feels easy. Dan is good at making conversation when he wants to, and Phil knows he wants to today. He’s meeting his boyfriend’s mum, even if she isn’t aware of the boyfriend part. 

Phil finds it’s a bit of a hard job not to stare at Dan lovingly. Dan’s got an effortless sort of charm that is made all the more impressive by the fact that it isn’t actually effortless at all. He’s trying hard to make a good impression, and that’s exactly what he’s doing. Not that Phil ever had any doubts. 

It’s good to be back here, Phil thinks. Sitting at the same table he used to sit at as a kid. It doesn’t feel so much like a haunted house anymore, though the memories of his dad are still in everything he sees. 

“So,” Kath says, and Phil notices that she’s still wearing her wedding ring. It makes a clinking sound against her mug whenever she picks it up. “What’re you boys going to get up to while you’re here?”

“Going to meet up with Ian and Lauren tomorrow,” Phil says. “Hopefully score some free chips.”

“Phil has promised to drag me around town and show me every spot in town where anything even remotely interesting happened to him,” Dan says.

“He’s really excited about it.” Phil can’t help looking at Dan and smirking. “He can’t wait to see the hill I had to climb to get home after school every day and the brick wall I allegedly vandalized.”

“Oh Phil,” she scolds. “I do hope you’re joking.”

“Are you implying he won’t find my tour fascinating?”

“It’s okay, Kath,” Dan says. “I actually like learning boring stuff about Phil.”

Phil’s heart thrums nervously. There’s a beat of silence that probably feels a lot longer than it is. For a closeted man, Dan isn’t being very careful about keeping his affections secret. 

“Well then,” Kath says, pushing her chair back from the table and standing up. “I’ve got a box full of home videos with your name on it.”

-

They spend a solid hour in front of the telly downstairs in the game room, Phil sneaking glances at Dan’s smiling face every time baby Phil did something cute or weird on the screen. It would seem Dan really does like learning boring stuff about Phil. And Kath seems to delight in showing him. 

There’s a lot of Nigel in these tapes. That fact doesn’t escape him. It’s hard, harder than seeing the photos. Photos don’t talk in his dad’s voice. Photos don’t move the way his dad did, they don’t hold Phil’s hand or tell daft jokes like the man in these videos. 

Phil wants to reach out for Dan, seek comfort in the person who’s been helping him through feelings like this these past few months. But he knows he can’t. So he reaches for the person who must be feeling the same things. His mum’s hand is much smaller than his, but he holds it tightly and squeezes, and she squeezes back, giving him a small, knowing smile. 

At one point, Phil sees her dab at her eye with the sleeve of her shirt. He pretends not to notice.

Eventually she announces that she needs to do the shopping before she runs out of time. Dan, being the mum charmer that is, offers his and Phil’s services in that regard: “Especially since it’s my fault you’ve got to do it in the first place.”

“It’s not,” she argues. “It’s Phil’s for not telling me sooner. But I think I’ll be rude and let you boys go for me. I’ve got to fix up the spare bedroom properly if Dan’s going to sleep in there tonight.”

She looks at Phil dead on, the set of her head and the slight narrowing of her eyes daring him to argue. He supposes it makes sense that she’s caught on to something; she’s a clever woman, and Phil hasn't exactly done his part to be discreet. He told her he was seeing someone, then proceeded to bring his flat mate back home instead. 

Dan clears his throat. “I don’t mind sharing with Phil,” he says, then puts his hand on Phil’s knee. “We’re used to it, aren’t we?” 

Phil and Kath both look at Dan, and at his hand. Kath’s eyes flicker over to Phil like she’s just waiting for Phil to confirm. 

Phil smiles and puts his hand over Dan’s. “Yeah,” he says, looking at his mum. “I think we’ll be fine in mine.” 

-

She waits until Dan and Phil have shopped and then cooked and eaten dinner before she sets on Phil with questions he’s been waiting all day for her to ask. Dan has excused himself to shower, and she finally gets her chance. 

“So,” she says. “Dan, then?” It’s more restraint than he was expecting. 

“Dan,” he confirms, smiling. 

“Was I meant to know?” 

“No, no. I… Dan wasn’t sure he’d want to come out. He hasn’t had a supportive family, so I told him he didn’t have to. But I guess he likes you or feels comfortable here, because he did.” 

She looks really happy about that, which makes Phil really happy in turn. “Well, I’m glad he felt comfortable.” She sips her tea. “Did you know him before you moved?” 

“What? No. No, we really did meet how I told you. I saw his listing for a flatmate and responded. We just… we got on well from the start.” 

“I could tell straight away,” she admits. “But I’m glad you’ve told me. I’m glad we’re allowed to talk about it. He’s so lovely, Phil.” She smiles and reaches out, cupping his face. He lets her just touch and look at him, watches as her smile grows slightly wistful. “You’re doing so well for yourself, aren’t you?” 

“I think so,” he says. “I think… I know what a brat I was when you told me you were selling the company and leaving for a while. But I did need it. I guess I need to stop questioning if mums are always right, because they are.” 

“Oh, child.” Her hand drops. “Let me tell you a bit of a secret. Sometimes mums can be dreadfully wrong. I had no idea if I was doing the right thing. I just couldn’t keep you boys trapped here just because having you close made me feel better. It wasn’t fair to you.” 

Part of Phil wants to crawl into her arms and tell her he’ll never leave again. It’s not born out of fear of leading a different life, though. It’s just something in his chest that ties him to her, to his family, to this home that he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to leave behind. 

But he can. He has. It’s always here to come back to, but he knows he wouldn’t really stay even if she asked him to. 

-

Phil is already back up in his bedroom when Dan gets out of the shower, affording him a nice view of a dripping wet and toweled up Dan. 

He whistles playfully. Dan rolls his eyes and takes the towel from around his waist, tossing it onto Phil’s head. 

“Have a nice chat with your mum?” Dan turns around to stoop at his bag and dig through it. 

“I knew you did that on purpose!” Phil says. Phil watches the play of muscles in Phil’s shoulder. He can’t see all the way down, can’t see Dan’s bum unless he sits up, and he’s feeling too lazy for that. He’ll just wait and get a feel when Dan gets into bed. “But yeah, I did. It was nice.” 

“Did she ask you about me?” Dan asks. 

“Of course,” Phil says. “That’s the first thing she asked.” 

Dan pulls on a pair of pants and climbs into bed. Phil pulls him close right away. “Are you alright?” he asks in a soft voice. “That was a big thing.”

Dan shrugs, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. “It didn’t really feel that big.”

“No?” Phil asks.

“She knows you’re gay and still loves you. I knew she wasn’t gonna be, like, offended or repulsed or anything.”

Phil frowns. “Sure.”

“I wanted her to know,” Dan murmurs, leaning in for a kiss. Their lips smack quietly, and Phil thinks it’s one of his favourite sounds in the world. “I wanted her to know that I’m important to you.”

“I’m really glad she knows,” Phil whispers. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, Phil. I wanted to do it. I want everyone to know. It just felt less scary to tell your mum than mine.”

“I’m still happy,” Phil says. “In a selfish way. I’m really proud of you but I’m also just happy for myself that I can talk to my mum about my boyfriend and not have to be careful about what I say.”

Dan smiles properly then. “D’you reckon she likes me?”

“Of course she does, you div.”

Dan kisses him again, letting it linger a little longer this time, giving Phil the smallest hint of tongue. It’s not heated, but the sheer intimacy of it makes Phil feel heavy and warm. 

When Dan pulls away, he’s got a bit of a stormy expression on.

“What is it?” Phil asks, rubbing his finger in between Dan’s slightly furrowed eyebrows. 

“Nothing. Just… I really do want to tell her someday. My mum.”

“You will. We’ve got time.”

“You’re not gonna dump me before I get there?” His tone is playful, but Phil responds like it isn’t.

“Don’t say things like that. You’re the love of my life, Dan.”

They’re laid on their sides, staring at each other across the inch or two of pillow between them.

Dan’s face is a mask. Whatever emotion he’s feeling is completely disguised. “That’s incredibly cheesy.”

“Yes,” Phil says. “It is. It’s also a hundred percent true.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit early to make an assertion like that?”

“Is there a rule book somewhere that I’m unaware of?”

“I dunno. Maybe.”

“You don’t have to agree, you know,” Phil says. “You can be mine without me being yours.”

“Oh, you’re definitely mine.”

Despite being completely honest about what he’d just said, hearing Dan say it back puts a smile on Phil’s face that he can’t fight away. “I love you,” he says, and they kiss again, mouths barely moving but it lingers anyway. 

-

“Last chance to back out,” Phil warns Dan as he raises his hand to knock on the door in front of him. 

Dan reaches past Phil and knocks before he can. “Don’t give me options. It’s oppressive.” 

Phil snorts. “That makes no sense. Are you sure—” 

The door swings open, Ian standing there. Ian’s house smells like warm baked bread and wet dog, an interesting combination that Phil has missed all the same. 

There’s a shriek and a pink-clad blur and Phil acts on instinct as he snatches Emily up before she can actually climb him like a tree. 

“Phil!” she shrieks louder, arms flung around his neck. 

“Ems,” he says, squeezing her tight. “I’ve missed you!” 

“You’ve been gone terribly long,” she says. “I don’t like it.” 

“Come on now,” Ian says, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her bodily away from Phil. “Let the man breathe. And we’ve talked about it, young lady.” 

“I’m not allowed to tell Phil he has to come back home and that we’re all sad without him,” she mumbles, head hanging. Then she sighs and looks directly at Phil. “Even if it’s true.” 

He wonders how long ago that rule was put in place. If she’d said it even three months ago, it probably would have broken him. 

But he’s got more to his life in London now, no matter how much he does truly miss the brightness Emily brings to his life or having Ian to get a drink with or Lauren’s chips. Not that Lauren as a person doesn’t have many positive attributes, but he really hasn’t ever found one that can fry up chips like she can. 

“Come on then,” Ian says. “You’re not actually banished, come inside.” 

Inside the doorway they hang their coats up and slip their shoes off. 

“You must be Dan,” Ian says. “I’ve heard loads about you.” 

“Well, that’s terrifying,” Dan says. “But yeah, that’s me. Dan. Phil’s boyfriend.” 

There’s a pin-drop moment where none of them say anything, then Ian breaks into a wide grin. He claps a hand on Phil’s shoulder and says, “Good on you, mate. Told you that you wouldn’t be lonely forever.” 

Emily wiggles until Ian puts her down and then walks up to Dan. “You’re Phil’s boyfriend?” 

“Yeah,” Dan says, looking down at her. He looks… mildly apprehensive. “I am. That alright with you?” 

He doesn’t say it with any sort of attitude, just a genuine concern for her approval. Phil looks at Ian and they share a moment, a smile. 

“You’re going to make him stay in London?” she asks. 

Dan kneels down so he’s closer to her height. “I’m not going to make him do anything, but yeah, I think Phil wants to stay in London with me. But we have a flat with an extra bedroom so you and your mum and dad can come and visit us and we’ll take you to all sorts of fun places in the city.” 

“Like where?” Emily asks. 

“Well, we could visit the oldest toy store in the world. Or go up on the London Eye - you can see the whole city from there. Or we could go to the Science Museum—” 

“I like science,” she says, her expression brightening. “Are there experiments there?” 

“Sure,” Dan says, shrugging one shoulder. 

“Is there a zoo?” she asks. 

“Oh yeah,” Dan says. “The London Zoo is epic.”

“Alright then,” she says, nodding decisively. She turns to look at Ian and says, “We’re going to go visit Phil and Dan in London.” 

“Oh, are we now?” he asks, ruffling her hair. She laughs. “Glad to know who sets the schedule here.” 

Phil looks to Dan. He’s bubbling over with things he wants to say - pride in Dan, pride at being his boyfriend. There’s even a warm satisfied feeling at Dan saying there’s an extra room in their flat. They haven’t really talked about combining the bedrooms, but they haven’t slept apart in weeks. Instead of any of those things, what he says is, “My only question is why you haven’t taken _me_ to the London Zoo or the science museum?” 

Dan rolls his eyes. “Alright then, bossy. We’ll do a whole tourist date when we’re back home.”

-

It takes no time at all for Emily to fall in love with Dan. It’s been a few hours and Phil hasn’t gotten to speak more than a few words to Dan since they walked in the door. She’s got him playing Zelda now, both of them sat on the floor, her sitting in the middle of Dan’s criss-crossed legs, his long arms looped around her and still managing to control the game like a pro. She keeps shouting instructions at him and he listens, even if it means getting beaten by every enemy he comes up against.

Phil is sat next to Ian on the sofa, watching the whole thing and trying not to combust with the ferocity of his affection for Dan. Before Ian and Lauren had a baby, children were a nebulous concept to Phil. They still are, really, with this Emily-shaped exception. Watching her grow from a tiny blob to the fierce little person she is now has been a privilege. And he reckons it taught him some things about growing up himself. 

He still can’t imagine having one of his own. That’s not what’s making his heart swell right now. Mostly it’s just Dan; his gentleness, his empathy. Seeing Dan interact with this spirited eight year old girl like they’ve known each other all her life makes Phil feel a lot. Dan fits here, next to Phil, in his life. He fits. 

“You didn’t tell me he was perfect,” Ian says, in a voice quiet enough that there’s no way Dan could hear. 

Phil does, though. And it makes him grin. “I kind of did.”

“You lot should move back here. He can be our live-in nanny.”

“Back off, he’s mine,” Phil says, and even though they’re both taking the piss, it does give him a little thrill to say those words. 

“Thought you said he wasn’t out.”

“He wasn’t. He isn’t.” Phil pulls one of his legs up and tucks it underneath himself. “I mean… he’s working on it. Obviously.”

Ian nods. “Well, I’m glad I don’t have to pretend I don’t know.”

“Me too.”

“He’s as good with Em as you are.”

“Better, probably,” Phil concedes. “He’s good at most things.”

Ian pretends to gag, then smiles, drops his arm across Phil’s shoulder and jostles him around a bit. “Mate.”

“I know,” is all Phil can say. 

“You’re a new man.”

Lauren comes out of the kitchen with a tray full of steaming mugs of tea. She hands one to Phil and drops down on the sofa next to her husband. “Well that’s bloody adorable, innit?” she asks, lifting a leg and pointing toward Dan and Emily with her foot.

“Don’t get him started,” Ian says, giving Phil another jostle. “They’re clearly still in the honeymoon phase. It’s revolting.”

She leans across Ian and stage whispers, “Phil, he’s really fucking fit.”

“Oi,” Ian says.

Phil laughs. Quietly. Hoping Dan still can’t hear them. “I know. Every day is a struggle.”

“He’s so tall,” Lauren continues. “And those dimples?”

“Hey Lo, he’s taken,” Ian says. “And so are you, in case you’ve forgotten.”

She pinches his cheek. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ve only got eyes for you.”

Phil missed this, he really did. He reckons he was missing it before he ever left Manchester. He missed feeling light enough to laugh and smile and make stupid jokes and live his life without tragedy wrapped around his ankles dragging him down into the darkness of his grief. 

“So how is it?” Ian asks. “Being back?” He’s not joking around anymore, his voice gone a touch lower. Phil knows what he’s asking.

“Yeah, it’s… it’s good,” he says, wrapping his hands around the warmth of his mug. “It’s like…” He looks down at his tea. Then he looks at Ian. “It’s always gonna hurt a bit.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s good to see my mum. It’s good to see you guys.”

Ian nods. “It’s good to see you too, mate.” They’re all quiet for a moment, then he asks, “Have you been to visit him yet?”

Phil shakes his head, his throat tightening a bit. “Haven’t been since the funeral, actually.”

“You don’t have to,” Lauren says, and Phil doesn’t miss the way she pinches Ian’s arm reproachfully. 

“I should,” Phil murmurs. His voice is thready, so he clears his throat. “I mean, I would like to.” 

He looks at Dan, at the slight hunch in his back and the little girl in his lap, at the way he’s fully immersed himself in being Phil’s partner. 

“I want to bring Dan,” he says quietly. “That’s the closest I can get to introducing them.”

Lauren reaches over Ian to put her hand on Phil’s arm. She doesn’t say anything, and neither does Ian. Five minutes later, Emily declares that she’s _starving to death_ , and Phil’s heaviness is swallowed up by the reminder that life goes on for those who remain. There are Emilys to feed and Laurens to help with dinner and Dans to kiss while no one's watching. There are friends to stay up late with, board games to play, boyfriends to hold hands with on the ride home. 

There are memories to make, happy ones, not to replace the ones that hurt, but to cushion the blow a little. To tuck into the book and save for the days when all that lingers is the heaviness. 

It’s not until the early hours of the morning that they find themselves in Phil’s bed again, cradled by darkness and the exhaustion of a day well spent. Dan’s breath is warm on Phil’s face, and it smells like mint and gin. 

“Dan,” Phil says. His voice is dreamy in his own ears as he fights to stay conscious.

“Mm.”

“I was sitting in this bed when I found your advert.”

Dan laughs, warm and sleepy. “Yeah?”

“You were so brilliant today.”

Dan hums. “Your friends are nice.”

“Thank you for coming here with me.” He tugs Dan in a little closer and Dan kisses Phil’s shoulder absentmindedly. 

Dan is almost asleep. He’s only half here, the other half drifting away into dreams. “Always wanna be where you are.”

Phil buries his nose in Dan’s hair and lets his eyes fall shut, breathing in the scent of him, the one that’s unique to Dan, that remains when the smell of his shampoo has faded. 

“You smell like warm,” Phil mumbles.

Dan just hums. 

“Dan,” Phil says. “Will you come somewhere with me tomorrow?”

Dan doesn’t answer. He’s asleep.


	40. Chapter 40

*

*

Phil is up first in the morning. 

He knows Dan didn’t sleep much in the days before they came to Manchester, didn’t sleep much the night before in a new place with new sounds and new angles. He’s not surprised Dan’s body does what it seems to always do and hit a crashing point. 

So he leaves Dan sleeping for a little while more and he slips quietly into pajamas. He knows the halls his feet walk down. He knows which step to avoid so it doesn’t squeak and wake someone up. He spent a lifetime mastering this path for midnight snacks and late nights back in. 

The tin of Nescafé is still out from the cup he’d had the night before. He starts water boiling in the kettle and has a room temperature bacon and cheese scone while he waits. It would be better heated up with butter, but he’s not fussed about it. 

He takes his coffee and his half-scone out to the back garden and sits at the table that probably hasn’t seen a meal eaten out on it since… well, since his dad was still alive, in those weeks before the last weeks when he still had the strength to come sit out here. 

He always loved it. He loved the view over the hills. He loved to sketch and paint scenes that were a combination of his imagination and what was in front of his eyes. 

Phil takes a long drink of coffee. It’s hot going down, and well-sweetened, just the way he likes it. He takes another and then keeps his hands wrapped around the mug. There’s more of a chill to the air than he expected. He should have at least put shoes back on. His mum will fuss at him. 

And he’ll let her. He needs to soak in all the mum time they can get. The visit is already close to over. He could only take so much time away from work, and the same for Dan. Tomorrow night they’ll get on a train that’ll take them back to their little flat. 

Gerald will probably be cross that Phil hasn’t been there to put food out for him for a few days now. Phil feels a tug of guilt that he’d never admit to Dan, for fear of the incessant mocking he’d get in return. 

He’s eager to see Gerald. He’s eager to be in his own bed. But he wants to be here, too. It’s such a strange pull and one he never really had reason to feel before. He had flats before, places he lived and paid for, but there was never a rival for _home_ in his heart. Home was always this - the house that held his mum and his dad and all his memories. 

Kath knows what Dan and Phil have planned for the day. She'd only just nodded quietly when Phil had told her the night before, said she's been a few times since she's been back. 

She hadn't asked to come along, and Phil hadn't invited her. He will next time. 

But this time he just wants Dan there. 

-

Dan is still sleeping when Phil finally makes his way back to the bedroom, so Phil just climbs right back in bed. As soon as he’s laid down, Dan wriggles in close, pressing his face into Phil’s chest. 

“Are you awake?” Phil whispers.

“Mmf.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I can go.”

Dan’s arm darts out to wrap around Phil’s side. “Don’t even think about it,” he says in his grumbly morning voice. His eyes are still closed, and after a minute of neither of them speaking, his breathing returns to a slow rhythm of sleep.

Phil indulges himself in enjoying the closeness. He already feels a sort of melancholy settling itself into his bones, but Dan helps. Being with Dan always helps. He walks his fingers up Dan’s arm, across his shoulder, over his cheek. He closes his eyes and plays with Dan’s hair, not feeling too bothered that he’ll probably wake Dan up again.

Dan slides a leg between Phil’s thighs. Phil can feel the warmth of Dan’s breath all the way through his shirt. 

“What are you thinking about?” Dan asks quietly.

“Nothing,” Phil replies, and it’s the truth. “I’m doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“The therapy thing you told me about. Where you just pay attention to yourself in the moment.”

“Mindfulness.”

“Mm,” Phil hums in confirmation.

“What are you paying attention to?”

Phil rubs gently at Dan’s scalp. “The feel of your hair. How warm you are.”

“Phil, that’s me. You’re supposed to pay attention to you.”

“Okay.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out. “My fingers are enjoying the feel of your hair, though. And my body is enjoying the warmth of you because I was sat outside for a long time and got really cold.”

“You went outside?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you alright?”

Phil takes another breath. He leans his head down so he can kiss Dan’s hair. He leaves his nose buried in the waves. “I don’t know.”

“Okay. That’s okay.”

“I don’t think I’m good at mindfulness.”

“It takes a lot of practice,” Dan says. “Especially for overthinkers like us.”

“I suppose that’s why we need it so badly, eh?”

Dan nods. Phil can’t see it because his eyes are still closed, but he can feel the movement of it. 

“I’m scared,” Phil whispers. 

Dan tilts his face up and presses their foreheads together. Phil still doesn’t open his eyes.

“I’m scared of how much it’s going to hurt.”

“I know,” Dan says softly. “It’s going to be hard.”

“But you’ll be there.”

“I will.” He nudges his nose against Phil’s. “Hey.”

“What?” Phil whispers, the word barely audible.

“Look at me.”

Phil opens his eyes. All there is is Dan. He holds Phil’s gaze in his big brown eyes, not saying a word, and it’s exactly right.

-

It’s quite a long walk to the cemetery, but Phil doesn’t consider asking his mum for the car. He doesn’t consider taking the bus or an uber. He wants to feel the distance. He’s not sure why.

The sky is a solid wall of light grey clouds as he and Dan walk down the hill. Phil’s hands are shoved into the pockets of his jeans and Dan’s in the pockets of his jacket. 

Walking this hill is so familiar, though everything around him looks somehow smaller than it did even six months ago. His world is bigger now. He can see far beyond the trees and hills of the town that raised him. 

He has a million stories in his mind he could be saying, but somehow speaking feels like a lot of effort. He doesn’t know why but Dan seems to understand or at least respect it and he doesn’t ask Phil the kinds of questions he’s peppered throughout the rest of their visit. 

The first word either of them comes as Phil turns at a break in the stone wall they’ve been following alongside. There’s a heavy iron gate and they both pause to look at the sign above it. 

He doesn’t really need to, but Phil says, “Here.” anyway. 

“Not too late to back out,” Dan says quietly. “We can always wait another day.” 

Phil shakes his head. He appreciates the out, but he doesn’t want it. “Come on.” 

-

It takes him twenty minutes of wandering around to remember where his dad is actually buried. It would make him laugh if it didn’t also make him want to cry. He thought he’d just - know. But he’s only been here once - the day of the funeral - and he hadn’t asked his mum for directions once they were inside. 

Dan doesn’t say anything about that, either. It’s as if he knows the normal pleasant teasing and piss-taking between them wouldn’t hit Phil in the proper way right now. He feels like someone’s taken all of his nerve endings and put them on the outside of his skin. 

“Oh,” Phil says, spotting a tree he recognizes. “We’re close.” 

Dan reaches out and slides his hand into Phil’s. “He’s in a good spot. It’s fucking gorgeous here.” 

Phil looks up and it is, actually. They’re on a bit of a hill and it’s easy to see the brilliant green of the grass on the rolling hills just beyond the stone wall enclosing the cemetery. Everything looks lush somehow even with the seasons changing. 

His dad would love that view. He’d probably want to paint it. 

Maybe Phil will try. Maybe he’ll take a picture before they leave. If he can’t, then Stevie might for him, at least. Nothing of the cemetery - just the view, so he can look at it sometimes and imagine sharing the moment with Nigel. 

He clears his throat against the tears that want to gather there and pulls Dan a few feet closer to the tree. His eyes skim over the names on the headstones until they land on the most freshly engraved one in this area. 

“Dad,” he says. “This is Dan.” 

He feels a bit daft saying it, but then Dan reaches out and puts a hand on the cool stone. “It’s nice to finally meet you, sir.” 

Phil takes a shuddering breath, tearing his hand from Dan’s so he can cover his mouth with it. 

“It’s okay,” Dan says, looking intensely at Phil. 

“Sorry, I just—” 

Dan’s arms come around him then, and Phil turns into the embrace blindly, clinging. Dan presses kisses to the side of Phil’s head and rubs brisk paths up and down his back with warm steady hands. 

They stand like that for a long while, Phil breathing in the scent of Dan until he regains control of himself and puts a little distance between them. His hands fall from around Dan’s neck to grasp loosely at his upper arms. “If you could have properly met him, he’d have probably greeted you with a handshake that felt like he wanted to make your knuckles crack. He’d have made some sort of joke about you being tall. He always joked about me being taller than he was. He and Martyn are the same height. I think he’d probably say something about how I went and found a bloke taller than me because I was tired of being the tallest one around. Or… I don’t know. Something silly like that. He’d have been awkward. My dad loved me so much but I don’t know that he ever felt like he knew what to do with me being gay. He used to treat Ben like all my other mates until he realized we were both gay, and then he walked in on us kissing one - and it changed. Suddenly he would pat him on the back all awkward and try to call him son. He was trying, but it never really worked. I think - I think it would have worked, with you. I’d have brought you around often enough that he’d have just gotten used to it, and treated you the same way he treats Corn. I wouldn’t have really given him any choice. And you… you’d have liked him, I think.” 

“I would,” Dan interrupts, voice low. He sounds affected by what Phil’s saying but Phil can’t meet his eyes just yet. “I’m sure I would.” 

“He’d have cooked proper vegan food for you. He used to for Cornelia, she eats fish but besides that she’s mostly veg. It would have even tasted good.” 

“Hey.” Dan laughs a choked little laugh. “Your mum tried.” 

“She did try,” Phil says. He laughs too for just a moment before it gets lost in another wave of grief. “She has to try hard enough for both of them now, I guess.”

“She’s okay, Phil.” He takes Phil’s hand and brings it up to his mouth, kisses Phil’s fingers and says, “She’s going to be okay, and so are you.”

Phil nods. He knows it’s true. This visit has proven it to him. She’s still who she always was. She’s sad but she’s not broken. And neither is he. Not all the time, anyway. And he knows how to pick up the pieces now. 

“He’s down there,” Phil says quietly, looking at the grass that grows over his father’s final resting place. 

Dan strokes over Phil’s knuckles with his thumb. “He is.”

“I should’ve brought flowers.”

“Did he like flowers?”

“Uh.” He thinks about it. “No more than anyone else, I guess.”

“I think you already brought him the thing he would’ve wanted most.”

Phil asks, “What?” though he already knows what Dan’s going to say.

Dan squeezes his hand and gives him a soft smile. “ _You_ , idiot.”

Phil closes his eyes and lets the sadness wash him over. His fingers laced between Dan’s keep him grounded, and if Dan has noticed how much sweat is building up between their palms, he hasn't said anything. Phil doesn’t think he will. 

He gets lost for a while, so much so that he’s startled when Dan starts to speak again.

“It’s been a while since you’ve seen your son, so I thought maybe you’d like me to fill you in.”

Phil turns to look at him, but Dan is looking at Nigel’s headstone.

“I haven’t known him that long in the grand scheme of things, but he’s already my favourite person in the world.”

Part of Phil wants to tell Dan to stop, that he doesn’t have to do that. That his heart can only take so much.

But a much larger part wants this. Very badly, actually. He squeezes Dan’s hand too tight and listens.

“I’ve never met anyone like him,” Dan continues. “He’s kind and funny. Endlessly patient when you need him to be, and somehow also stubborn as absolute fuck.”

Phil laughs wetly. “Shut up,” he murmurs.

Dan grins, dimple denting his cheek, and keeps on. “He makes me happy, and he makes me brave. He’s a good listener and he cares about people. He’s a slob and he’s generous and he eats like shit and doesn’t apologize for who he is. I think he might be an alien, but I’m in love with him and I’m going to keep him.”

Phil’s smile drops, his throat going tight. “Dan…”

Dan shakes his head just slightly, eyes still locked on the stone. “You raised a good man, sir. A bloody amazing man who misses you every day. But he’s going to be okay. I’ve got him now.”

Phil tugs on Dan’s arm, harder than he means to. Dan makes a startled little noise as Phil pulls him into a bruising hug. 

“I’ve got you,” Dan whispers. 

Phil nods. 

“I’ve got you.”

-

Phil only speaks four more words out loud - _I love you, Dad_ \- before he pushes his face into Dan’s neck and says, “I want to leave now.”

“Back to the house?” Dan asks. 

“Not yet.” He thinks for a moment. “Let’s just… walk.”

“Yeah,” Dan says. “Let’s do that.”

-

They make it inside the glass doors of the coffee shop just as the clouds above them unleash.

“I’ll order for us,” Phli says. “Find a table?” 

He’s only behind a couple of people in line. It gives him time to catch his breath from the speedwalk in. 

The shop is nice. There actually aren’t any childhood memories here, which is a profound relief. The place was only put in a few years ago, taking over an old Indian restaurant he used to get kebabs from. It’s been completely redone since then, though, the guts of it ripped out and replaced with modern fixtures and different flooring and bold deep blue paint on the walls. It smells of coffee and he breathes in deep, letting the scent envelope him. 

He recites both of their orders when he gets to the counter. The guy who takes his card and calls the order out has a little rainbow enamel pin on his collar. Phil drops a tenner in the tip jar when he isn’t looking. 

Dan’s found them a nice table near a window, far away from everyone else. Phil sits down beside him, then leans his head on Dan’s shoulder. Dan’s arm comes up to squeeze around him briefly before dropping away. 

“Oh,” Phil says, remembering himself - remembering Dan. He picks his head up. “Sorry.” 

A frown flickers over Dan’s face. “Hey,” he says. “No.” 

Then he pulls Phil in and kisses him on the mouth. It’s nothing more than a quick peck, but Dan is smiling when he pulls away. 

Phil smiles back at him. “You’re the best.” 

“You are, actually. You were amazing today.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Phil argues weakly. He suddenly feels a bone deep, all encompassing sort of exhaustion and all he really wants to do is melt into the warmth of Dan’s arms and forget the world for a little while.

“Phil, I love you.”

Phil blinks. “I love you too.”

“But you’re being an idiot.”

“Oh.”

Dan fixes him with a look of determination, then takes his face in his hands and kisses him. Properly. A kiss that lingers, that tastes like tea and comfort and conviction.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Dan says, not letting go of Phil’s face. “You make me want to be brave. Especially on days like today. You inspire me.” 

“Is it bravery, though?” Phil questions. “To keep on going? Because that’s all I did. I just… kept going. Life didn’t actually stop even though it felt like it did for a while.” 

Dan glances down at the tattoo on his wrist. “Yeah, I’d say it’s still brave. To keep going even when it feels like you’ve lost something that’s too big to get over.” 

Phil pulls Dan’s hand into his lap and traces the circles of ink gently, over and over. “Yeah,” he says quietly, eventually. “You’re right.”

Dan doesn’t say anything right away, just lifts his hand and uses it to guide Phil’s head back onto his shoulder. They sit there, listening to the sounds of steam wands and coffee grinders and the chatter of customers coming in and out of the shop. They watch the rain outside the window, people clutching their umbrellas, cars splashing as they drive by. 

“Thank you,” Phil murmurs. “For coming with me.”

“Always.”

Phil drinks his coffee. Dan drinks his tea. 

The rain has stopped by the time they slip out of the café. Phil could get a car to take them home, but he doesn’t. The air is cool and damp, and Dan takes his hand the moment they’re outside. The hills that frame the edges of town are so green they glow.

They talk as they walk back. About their plans for today and their plans for tomorrow. Phil tells Dan he wants to buy a new sofa, one they pick out together. Dan tells Phil he wants to combine their bedrooms. He wants his space and Phil’s space to be one and the same. Phil says Dan can do all the decorating as long as the penis flowers hang above their bed.

A year ago, Phil lost something big. He thought it was too big to get over. But it wasn’t. He kept going. All he could do back then was keep going. 

He can do more now, and he will. He’s going to build a life full of joy and bravery and patience and growth, a life that would have made his dad proud. 

His and Dan’s hands are slick with sweat where they’re touching. When they reach the top of the hill, Dan lets go, but only long enough to wipe his palm against his jeans. Then he laces their fingers together again and smiles. 

“Let’s cook something for your mum tonight, yeah?” he asks. His cheeks are rosy and his hair is a mess of frizzy waves stuck to his forehead. 

Phil smiles. He’s going to build a life of happiness, and he’s not going to do it alone.


End file.
